


The Truth in the Artist's Eyes

by radioactive_lipstick



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioactive_lipstick/pseuds/radioactive_lipstick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Successful painter, Paul "Jesus" Monroe wants to make the world a better place, one person at a time. As a homeless man crashes his art exhibition, Jesus refuses to let him return to the cold streets of New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Paul Monroe walked back and forth among a crowded gallery, Starbucks coffee in hand, listening in on the visitors who came to admire his paintings. He had traveled around the world to find inspiration for his latest works, he wanted to convey the pain and suffering of the people in poor and war torn countries to the New York elite who were so used to his previously colorful, cheerful, abstract works of art.

He backpacked through multiple countries, leaving his fortune behind, spending as little money as possible and trying to experience the local culture. After months of traveling, his hair and beard grew to the point where kids started calling him Jesus, saying he resembled the the portrayals of the Son of God that hung in their homes. He accepted his new nickname and the hospitality people offered him and wanted to give back. 

“This is unexpected,” a woman in a fur coat told her husband as she picked up one of the free gourmet snacks that were offered around by the gallery.

“It’s Paul Monroe’s work so we’re getting it anyway,” her husband retorted, glass of wine in hand, “it’s bound to go up in price eventually.”

They stood under monochrome painting of an old woman cradling a baby as she stood over two graves in her own back yard.

Clearly, the message didn’t come across but they were buying the painting anyway and that was enough for Jesus since he decided to give most of the profits from tonight’s sales to charity.

Not a single person had recognized him as the artist, thanks to his new look, so he roamed freely among the guests all night.

It was getting late and people started leaving, all the paintings were now marked with SOLD stickers and Jesus still had a feeling that he wasn’t doing enough, that he was missing something. He was trying to come up with a more direct way to help someone in need, he needed to make sure he was making a change.

As he was considering donating his time to a soup kitchen, a man entered the now empty exhibition room like a shadow. He had long brown matted hair, his jeans were torn at the knees and his leather vest worn and dusty. His back was hunched as if he was trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable.

Jesus watched as the man snuck by the distracted security guard and went straight for a plate of red chili and avocado filled eggplant rolls a caterer left on one of the tables. He quickly filled his mouth with several of the bite sized snacks, chewed a couple of times and started choking on the spicy appetizers. Without thinking twice, Jesus ran up to the reception desk, filled a glass with cucumber water and ran to offer it to the stranger who grabbed it without hesitation and gulped it down.

He used his forearm to wipe the mix of chili sauce and water that spilled onto his stubbly chin and took a deep breath. “Are you okay?” asked Jesus, concerned. The man finally composed himself, he lifted his gaze, his blue eyes met with Jesus’ and he gave him the most sincere “thank you” Jesus has ever heard. Jesus felt his heart skip a beat. 

All the commotion caught the attention of the security guard who approached them wearily.

“Should I kick him out?” Asked the guard, wrinkling his nose from the stench that was coming from the haggard visitor.

“There’s no need for that. He’s a guest, just like anyone else,” Jesus informed them both. 

“As you wish, Mr. Monroe,” said the guard and walked away.

The stranger looked uncomfortable, he was now avoiding eye contact, staring down at his dirty, worn shoes.

“Ya’ didn’t have to do that,” he said in a low voice, “I don’t belong here. Just wanted somethin’ ta eat... I’ll leave.”

“Stay,” Jesus insisted, “there’s more food left, if you’re still hungry.” He wanted to give the man a reassuring pat on the shoulder but as he lifted his arm the man flinched in fear causing him to stop in mid movement. Instead, he gestured at the table at the far end, full of appetizers. “Here, let me show you around. What’s your name?”

“Uh, Daryl Dixon, sir,” the man answered in a small voice.

“Why’d you call me sir?” Asked Jesus, surprised by the formality.

“’Cause you seem like someone important around here,” Daryl replied sheepishly as he followed Jesus to the catered table.

“I’m just an artist, I don’t own this place and I’m definitely not a sir. My name is Paul Monroe but some call me Jesus.”

“I can see why,” Daryl said as his eyes jumped from painting to painting. “So you painted all of these?”

“Every single one,” Jesus confirmed.

Daryl picked up a nacho topped with salmon tartar and ate it slowly to avoid repeating the previous fiasco. 

He seemed to be transfixed by a painting in particular. A little boy standing in the shadow of his father.

“Why’d he beat him?” he asked.

“How do you know he beat him?” asked Jesus puzzled, he didn’t paint any visible sign of abuse on the boy.

“I see it in the eyes,” Daryl answered and shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s always in the eyes. So, why’d he do it?”

“Wasn’t the boy’s fault. It’s never the child’s fault.”

Daryl gazed into Jesus’ eyes again, he had the same grateful expression he had earlier. In his eyes, he could now notice something new, there was a spark that wasn’t there before. What Jesus said must have lifted a burden off of the back of Daryl’s mind.

He was about to say something but the guard interrupted them. He informed Jesus that his pre-scheduled Uber has arrived.

“I should go then,” said Daryl and walked forward the glass door, “t’was nice meetin’ ya, Jesus.”

All these overused motivational quotes came to Jesus’ mind. Be the change you want to see in the world. It’s now or never.

“Wait,” Jesus exclaimed, “do you have anywhere to stay tonight?”

“There’s usually place at the shelter couple of blocks from here,” Daryl answered, embarrassed to have to actually admit he’s homeless. 

“That won’t do,” Jesus asserted, “you can stay at my place.” He led Daryl to the Uber and rushed him in. The driver, clearly unhappy with the unpleasant smell coming from Daryl’s dirty clothes opened a new air freshener, but he didn’t complain. Daryl seemed embarrassed to have agreed to Jesus’ offer so easily. He was biting his thumb and avoided all eye contact by constantly looking out the window, observing people rushing home as it started to rain heavily outside. The sounds of raindrops hitting the windshield must have calmed him down, because he stopped biting his thumb and fell asleep a few minutes later.

Now, that he was no longer distracted by Daryl’s captivating blue eyes, Jesus took this opportunity to study the sleeping man’s face.  
The mysterious scar on his forehead, the beauty marks next to high laugh line, his patchy stubble, despite all the imperfection Jesus found the man strangely attractive.

Suddenly, the car swerved, avoiding a drunk cyclist who was merrily zigzagging in the middle of the road, completely oblivious of almost being run over.

The brusque movement of the car didn’t disturb Daryl, he was still asleep, his head was now resting on Jesus’ shoulder. Being so close to his face made Jesus blush. He scolded himself for the dirty thoughts that crossed his mind. He wanted to help the man get back on his feet, get him cleaned up, find him a job, he had to get him off the streets for good. He couldn’t risk scaring him away by accidentally flirting with him or looking at him the way he was looking at him now. Looking at his relaxed, parted lips.

The car came to a halt and the driver announced they’ve arrived to their destination, Jesus’ apartment building. Jesus gave the driver a hefty tip for letting a homeless man into his car and keeping quiet throughout the ride. “We’re here,” Jesus quietly said, gently waking up Daryl by nudging his shoulder. Daryl woke up and rubbed his eyes with his hands. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I...I guess I was tired.” He got out of the car and looked up, intimidated. The building’s valet opened the door for them as they walked in. After a long, silent elevator ride they were at Jesus’ door.

“Are you sure you’re okay with having me sleep over?” Asked Daryl cautiously.

“Positive,” Jesus assured him, unlocking his door, “come on in.”

Daryl walked into a large living room with a fitting tall ceiling, a long leather couch was facing a flat screen TV, hung on the wall, with various gaming consoles connected to it. Clothes were thrown all around the living room floor, dirty dishes in the kitchen’s sink, various empty pre-made food packaging over the marble counters and kitchen island.

“Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t expecting anyone,” apologized Jesus, “the maid should be here to clean up Monday morning.”

Jesus led Daryl to an empty guest room. “You can stay here,” he said, “there’s a door to a shared bathroom and everything’s clean.”

“Can I take a shower?” Daryl asked, looking at the floor. He was fully aware that his smell made people uncomfortable, to the least.

“Go ahead,” Jesus said and smiled, “I’ll go find you something comfortable to wear.” 

When Jesus closed the bedroom door behind him, Daryl cautiously undressed. Leaving his dirty clothes behind him, on the bedroom floor, he locked himself in the bathroom. Appreciating the privacy and the ample amount of nicely scented bath products he could use, he took a long shower.

Meanwhile, Jesus looked through his clothes, picking out a pair of plain looking boxers, silk pajama pants and a sleeveless shirt for his guest to wear. The sleeveless shirt was a selfish choice since the painter refused to cover up Daryl’s beautiful shoulders and attractive biceps. If even if he decided to keep his attraction to platonic level, he still wanted to have some eye candy around.

He knocked on the bathroom door, “I got you some clothes,” he exclaimed. Daryl opened the door slightly, grabbed the clothes in a quick, cat like motion, and locked the door again. Jesus was petrified, he caught a glimpse of Daryl’s back in the mirror, a couple of faded tattoos were present among a multitude of deep scars. Jesus walked into his kitchen and emptied a couple shots of whiskey to erase the memory he had just acquired. The conversation about the painting with the frightened child made so much more sense now. Jesus kept taking shots to keep his guilt in bay until Daryl came out of the shared bathroom, smelling of his high end conditioner. He’d seemed to have brushed all the knots out of his outgrown hair. Jesus gave Daryl a heartfelt smile and wished him good night, retreating into his private bedroom.

Daryl sat on the soft bed, it was much softer than what he was used to. Much better than any bed in the shelter or even the one back home. He kept thinking of Jesus, his kindness, the warm touch of his hand on his shoulder as he woke him up from his nap, the way his blue eyes absorbed him and made his skin crawl with anticipation of a soft, affectionate touch. Jesus’ piercing blue eyes, he wished he could drown in them every morning, for the rest of his life. He wished he could find a way to repay all the kindness he’d received that night.

Daryl shook his head, he couldn’t screw this opportunity up, he had to keep his feelings in check. What he has been offered was a good night sleep in a safe home, away from the cold and the rain, nothing more. He had to conceal any sign of attraction he had for his kind hearted host, the man who opened his door for him without any fear or request of payback. Daryl closed his eyes, he stroked his boner methodologically, ashamed of himself, afraid of being found out and ruining the opportunity that he’d been given. He feared scaring his gracious host away by revealing his dirty thoughts, the ones where they kissed and touched each other, where their bodies became one. He buried his moans into his pillow as his host buried his, face down into his mattress. They moaned each other’s names in the dark until they climaxed, falling asleep, worried to have been overheard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna thank everyone for their feedback. Initially I wanted this to be only 3 chapters long, just so I can practice writing some sex scenes, but thanks to all the encouragement, I think I'm going to extend this fic to an indefinite number of chapters.  
> I feel like domestic fluff took over this chapter and even though there's pretty much nothing erotic in it, I hope you still enjoy it.

The sun was still low in the sky, shining its light through a crack between the curtains when Jesus' phone rang. His dad was on the line, having found out that Jesus made several large donations to charities from his savings account, thanks to their loose lipped shared accountant, and had called to show Jesus his disapproval on the matter. Not being business and family oriented made him the black sheep among his siblings. After arguing with him for what felt like hours, as he paced around the room, Jesus was exhausted and finally hung up on him.

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

Even after a full night's sleep, the intensity of this morning’s conversation had drained him of energy. Dragging his feet, he walked to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. He'd often sing in the shower but today he was in no mood to do so, being reminded he's a disappointment first thing in the morning wasn't the best way to start his day. Besides he wouldn't want to accidentally wake his guest with his off key version of My Heart Will Go On. He was about to blow dry his hair when he heard the sound of his washing machine merrily singing the song of it’s people, as it did every time the laundry cycle finished. 

Did his maid change her schedule again?

Jesus put on some clothes and grabbed a towel. He walked out of the bathroom, ruffling his hair, ready to greet the old woman, walking through the living room he noticed it was now free from the piles of dirty clothes he'd accumulated in the past week. 

Instead of being greeted by the friendly old lady wearing a pristine uniform, in the laundry room he found Daryl, perched over the machine, shushing it, his index finger on his lips, as he repeatedly poked around the control panel with the other, attempting to turn the loudly singing appliance off. 

Jesus leaned on the doorway, taking a moment to admire how well his clothes fit Daryl and how cute his guest looked when he was flustered. 

“You just need to open the lid to make it stop,” Jesus said, finally making his presence known. 

Daryl turned around, surprised, he quickly got himself together and flipped the lid open, creating an awkward silence between them. Jesus was smiling at him. Daryl’s ears turned red. 

“Uh, hey, sorry, I’m used to wakin’ up early and I wanted to do something to repay ya before I left,” Daryl said shyly, avoiding eye contact. 

“You’re leaving already? Why?” Jesus asked, trying to conceal the disappointment in his voice.

“I don’t wanna overstay your welcome,” Daryl replied hesitantly, “and soup kitchen starts at ten,” he added, now looking at his feet.

“You don’t have to worry about that, my welcome extends to as long as you wanna stay here and you’re welcome to eat here too,” Jesus proclaimed. “I’ll go cook something up. I'll let you finish over here,” he said and he left the laundry room, not leaving Daryl any time to protest.

He crossed his fingers and opened his fridge door. Hopefully, his there were still some fresh ingredients left in it. He didn’t do groceries often, relying mostly on takeout and delivery for sustenance. 

He could hear Daryl moving the clothes from the washing machine to the dryer as he assessed the contents of his fridge. He was afraid Daryl might feel intimidated if Jesus offered him to go out for breakfast together and would decide to leave. 

He tossed some three day old Chinese takeout in the garbage, revealing the eggs and cheese behind it. His freezer contained a lonely bag of mixed frozen vegetables that’s probably been there for over a month but he had to make due.

Jesus turned on the coffee maker and quickly shoved the vegetables into the microwave, hoping for the best as he heard Daryl poking around the dryer's control panel, struggling to start it as the machine beeped in retaliation. He managed to start making a cheese omelet by the time Daryl loudly sighed in relief as the dryer finally started to tumble.

Daryl walked into the living room, he cautiously approached the kitchen island, hiding his hands in his pockets. He dallied a bit before he sat down on the stool, facing Jesus directly across the kitchen island, observing him in silence. Jesus flipped the omelet, poured some coffee, offering the cup to Daryl and went back to nervously poking the omelet with his spatula. 

“Looks good,” Daryl complimented his host with sincerity.

“Can’t be sure ‘till we taste it,” Jesus replied, self consciously, afraid that his simple, home cooked meal wouldn’t measure up to the gourmet appetizers Daryl tried last night, completely forgetting that the man in front of him knew the opening hours of the local soup kitchen by heart. He cut the omelet in half and separated it onto two plates, adorning them in microwaved vegetables to the best of his abilities. He’d never cooked for anyone but himself before, all his friends and the men he’s dated wanted to be dined in fancy restaurants, instead. 

He walked up to Daryl, plates in hand and sat down next to him, offering him the embarrassingly simplistic meal. 

Daryl seemed to be a bit more relaxed in his presence as he grabbed a fork and dug into the omelet without looking for approval. He hummed a bit as he chewed on his first bite.

“It is good,” he confirmed, filling his mouth with more.

While Daryl enjoyed his meal, Jesus tried to find the right words to ask him about how he ended up on the streets and what he wanted to do next. He kept getting distracted by the movement of Daryl’s Adam’s apple when he ate and how clean and shiny his hair now was. He wished he could tie it back so he could see his face better. Hell, he wished he could at least run his fingers through it, just once.

He snapped back to reality to find Daryl’s eyes focused on him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Daryl said, trying to conceal that small hint a smile on his lips, this time it was him who took a moment to admire Jesus, who, lost in his thought, was playing with his food.

“I was just wondering how you...” He paused, looking for the right words again. 

“How I ended up homeless?” Daryl finished his question as if he’s read his mind. 

“Yeah, that, among other things,” Jesus confirmed.

“I get asked that a lot, at the shelters, by other guys like me. Most people just refuse to look at me now, let alone talk to me or ask me anythin'” he said struggling with the memories, letting months of bottled up frustration come out. 

“You're the first one who didn't look right through me, and you were kind to me, so I'm gonna tell ya all the truth, 'cause ya deserve it” he cleared his throat and continued, “I came here from Georgia a few years back with my brother. He couldn’t hold a job and I took every odd one I could find. Money was tight, so he started sellin’ drugs. I was his lookout. One day I was sick, couldn't get outta bed, so he went to deal without me, he got caught cause someone snitched on us,” Daryl put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands, "they couldn't prove I had anything to do with it 'cause I wasn't there." 

His eyes were turning red, remembering his brother's loyalty when he refused to rat him out for a shorter sentence. 

“We couldn’t afford a lawyer so they gave him one that didn’t give a shit and they locked him up for six years for possession with intent to sell, with his priors and all. I couldn’t afford rent no more so I got evicted.. That's pretty much the whole story.” 

Daryl lifted his head and looked at Jesus’ who was trying to find the right way to react to the new information but all he could say was “Daryl, I'm sorry…” 

“Yeah, I get, I’m a drug dealer, a criminal, it’s okay if ya wanna kick me out now,” Daryl said and stood up, misunderstanding Jesus' words of compassion, “I’ll just go grab my clothes now, thanks for everything.” 

As he turned around forward the laundry room, Jesus grabbed him by the wrist, Daryl’s muscles tensed up and he froze, looking away from Jesus, resisting to push him away.

“Wait,” Jesus said firmly, he had to fix this so he stopped trying to find the right words and just spoke from his heart, without worrying about what Daryl might think of him, “you just told me you weren’t the one dealing, so you're no criminal, you were just keeping an eye on your brother and even if you were one, it wouldn’t change a thing. You’re still welcome here as for as long as you want.” 

He could see Daryl lowering his guard slightly. The man still wouldn’t turn around to face him. 

“Sure, being a lookout for a drug dealer sounds bad but it doesn’t make you a bad person. You deserve a lot more than spending your nights looking for a shelter to take you in, I can see that you’re afraid of something, and it's keeping you from accepting my help. So stop punishing yourself for whatever you think you did and let me help you, please.” He let go of Daryl’s hand and watched him wipe his eyes. 

It took Daryl a moment but the nodded his head. He was still looking away, concealing his tears, Jesus pretended not to notice, if he needed to cry, so be it. 

“Alright,” he finally agreed. "I'll stay, 'til I can find a job, can ya help me with that?" 

Jesus was glad that he finally got his intentions through to Daryl.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back,” he said, wishing he could console the crying man by giving him a hug but he knew touching him might make him feel worse. 

He retreated into his bedroom, retrieving his laptop. He left it home during his travels and hasn’t used it since he came back, absorbed in his work. He brought it to the living room and set it up on the coffee table, inviting Daryl, who was now rubbing his puffy eyes, to sit next to him on the carpet.

They spent the rest of the morning seated on the floor, side by side, building Daryl a resume. It took a while for Daryl to list all the odd jobs he had done, most of them involving physical labor. He'd done everything from lawn mowing to garbage disposal. His last job consisted of presenting himself at the fish market in the early hours of the morning, hoping to get picked among other desperate candidates for illegal work, in case they needed extra hands to unload truckloads full of incoming product onto the stalls, it was the only place that didn't mind Daryl's bad smell and paid cash, without asking too many questions.

Jesus wasn't surprised Daryl's fit body and firm arms were a result of physically demanding jobs. He could not picture him spending hours at the gym or vainly flexing his muscles in a mirror. 

Daryl confessed he never had the time or opportunity to learn how to use a computer so Jesus taught him the basics. Proudly, he watched as Daryl applied his new knowledge to find himself a job. 

“I think I've got the hang of this,” Daryl proclaimed, slowly typing an email in reply to a Craiglist wanted ad. 

Jesus realized he was hovering and made himself scarce, letting Daryl concentrate. He retreated into his workroom, intent on making a few new sketches for his next collection. Instead he found himself absentmindedly filling pages of his sketchbook with Daryl’s features. He has known the man for less than a day and already his face was all he could see when he closed his eyes, it was carved into his mind in incredible detail.

He did not resist the urge to draw him, he sketched Daryl’s face, putting much attention to his eyes, trying to recreate that spark he had witnessed the night before. The spark he wish to see again when Daryl looked at him. 

He sketch for hours, convincing himself that he wasn't obsessed, that he didn't wish to study every minor detail of Daryl's body, to trace them with his fingers, with his tongue. To memorize them all just so he can paint them on his canvas for the world to see, to acknowledge his existence, so Daryl Dixon would never feel invisible again. 

These sketches, they had to be his secret because there's no way a straight man from Georgia was going to agree to be his muse.


	3. Chapter 3

Jesus was cooped in his art room for more than two hours when Daryl's ability to concentrate came to an end, words he wrote into the empty spaces on his latest job application were starting to blur right in front of his eyes. He squinted, staring at the screen, determined to push past his limit but his eyes were tired and wouldn't comply. It was time to take a break.

He considered knocking on the painter's door, asking him to leave the room where he's isolated himself with his work but he feared that disturbing his host in the midst of a strike of inspiration might make him angry. He wanted him close, as the man’s presence somehow made him feel safe and cared for, something Daryl hasn't felt for a long while. He sighed, missing having his brother's watchful eyes on him, the only other person that occasionally gave him a similar feeling of safety. Merle would try to rip apart anyone who’d even looked at his baby brother the wrong way, sometimes it would end them both up in trouble but Daryl was grateful he had someone who was willing to do anything to keep him from getting hurt. Jesus was now providing him with the same protection in his own way. 

Daryl could tell there was also something else, something he’d never let himself experience before the younger man made his way into his life with a glass of cucumber water and concern in his eyes. He felt a pleasant tingling sensation cascade down his spine as the memory of Jesus accidentally brushing their forearms together while demonstrating how to move the laptop's mouse. The memory reenacted itself vividly in his mind, their bare skin touching was like being hit by static electricity only he could feel. Daryl felt tingles pass through his body, igniting a fire in his chest, making him want to abandon all his senses and just ask to be touched again, to be held by Jesus, allowing himself to feel wanted, even just for another second. Jesus saw something in him worthy of his trust, of his help, something Daryl didn’t think he had because of the constant lingering thoughts in his head, reminding him he was damaged, unworthy of love, good for nothing, his father’s punching bag. 

Movement on the computer screen has caught Daryl's attention, bringing him out of his self hating darkness back into Jesus’ living room, with it’s tall ceilings and shelves full of knick knacks from around the world. Unused for a while, the laptop has turned on it's screen saver. A slideshow of Jesus' photo albums started scrolling by, photo by photo, giving Daryl glimpses into Jesus' life, into his past, giving him a better idea of who the man in the next room was. 

He could still recognize Jesus, with short hair and no beard, in all of the photos. His eyes looked green in some of them, in others they were sky blue but no matter which color they were, Daryl still wanted to lose himself in them. There he was standing with some friends at a fancy event, champagne in hand, smiling at the camera, wearing a purple suit. There he was again, at a golf course, taking a swing at the ball, a crowd of people watched him in awe and again, on a grainy photo, he was at a club, people dancing around him, people whose approval he didn’t care about as he was kissing another man.

Daryl quickly slammed the laptop shut. It took him a moment to process what that photo meant. It meant that Jesus could actually say yes if Daryl finally had the courage to ask him all those things he craved to experience since he was a teen. It meant that maybe, just maybe, he'll have a chance to kiss this beautiful, kind, gentle person. It meant that Daryl finally had a chance, a tiny, microscopical chance to actually be happy with someone he was so insanely attracted to, without being burdened by the fear of getting rejected by his only kin for what they were taught was sin, a sin worth killing someone for. He didn’t know what Merle would do if ever found out, but now his brother was far away, locked up in jail, unable to know anything about Daryl’s life unless he revealed it to him himself.

Back when he was younger, he realized had never had any interest in kissing a girl, there has never any attraction there. He felt different about boys but the he would never dare to kiss one, afraid that somehow his father will find out and Daryl would have to fight for his life. His father has beaten him into unconsciousness for much less.

When they finally moved away, Daryl was afraid of Merle, he couldn’t risk losing the big brother that loved him and protected him from the wrath of their father. He thought of his brother’s anger, back in high school, when he beat and bullied kids for even slightly straying away from what their conservative little redneck town considered to be a real man. He was disgusted by them and encouraged Daryl to join in on tormenting those who he should have been standing up for, making him hate himself in the process, afraid that he’ll see the same look of disgust on his brother’s face directed at him. 

Daryl convinced himself he could leave all this behind him, he could try to be honest with himself, let his guard down, shed his insecurities, one by one, and allow himself to be open and vulnerable, ready to be loved. He thought of those things with one man in mind. Jesus, the man on whose door he was about to knock now and so he did. He knocked. 

“Hey, ya been in there forever, ya need a break,” he called out across the door.

\---------------------------------------

Daryl wasn't sure what they were doing was considered a date since he’d never been on one before but talking to Jesus over a plate of raviolis, in a restaurant he would never have considered dining in, judging by the exorbitant prices on the menu that they hung at the entrance to keep people like him from even thinking about entering, it seemed so out of Daryl's comfort zone that it could actually be one.

Daryl suggested just grabbing a couple of slices of pizza at Domino's but Jesus insisted that Daryl had to try the food at his favorite place. He couldn't say no as the shorter man, looking up at him as he tried to describe the taste of his favorite items on their menu with a spark in his eyes. So he agreed and there he was, sitting with Jesus in a crowded restaurant, having picked the cheapest item on the menu because the man in front of him deserved better than to be taken advantage of for being generous and wealthy. He told Daryl he could order whatever he wanted and what Daryl wanted is to stop being a burden on him or at least be the lightest burden he could be until he could afford to pay for his own meal.

In the middle of their possibly date, Jesus got a call from the gallery and apologized for having to take it. While he discussed how much money the gallery needed to allocate to the charities he picked, Daryl sneaked away to the bathroom after finishing his meal. On his way back, he stopped at the bar and asked the bartender if he could borrow their phone.

He composed the prison's number, last time he spoke to Merle was over a month ago, he realized.

“Hey can I talk to inmate number 1872, Merle Dixon,” he asked the grumpy prison employee that answered.

“Merle? He made parole a week ago. He's at a halfway house now, must be looking for you.”

“Give me the address,” Daryl said, as the burden of keeping his brother out of trouble settled in back into his life.

Daryl knew Merle needed him and he had to be by his side as soon as he could to keep him from ending up back in jail again but he couldn’t make himself leave just yet, not when Jesus waved his hand at him from the sidewalk, getting his attention after finishing his call, his lips forming a captivating smile as Daryl waved back in acknowledgment. As if every cell of his body was magnetized, Daryl wanted to anchor himself to Jesus and never let go.

I'll allow myself today, Daryl told himself, just one day to be a man who's infatuated with another man, to accept it, to act on it. Daryl wanted to kiss him, to ask to be his, at least for a night and maybe Jesus would agree. He told himself that he will kiss him tonight, because he'll be gone by morning, no matter what happens.

Daryl straightened his back, trying to hold on to every bit of confidence he had and walked out to face Jesus, who was ready to leave, as their waitress handed him back his credit card.

“You good to go?” Daryl asked.

“Yeah,” Jesus answered and turned around to the sidewalk.“Shit! Not him. Not now,” he exclaimed as he noticed a couple of men holding hands walking in their direction. He grabbed Daryl's arm and tried to pull him back into the restaurant, in attempt to hide but the taller stranger with the curly hair has already noticed him.

“Paul, is that you? I heard you got back from your travels, you look different,” said the man. Daryl instantly recognized him, it was the man Jesus was kissing in the grainy picture he saw during the slideshow.

“Hey, Aaron, uh, how have you been?” said Jesus, trying not to look at him directly.

“Been doing better since I started dating Eric after you broke my heart and left for South Africa without me,” Aaron said bitterly as he squeezed his boyfriend's hand gently. “Still I wish you'd called me after you came back, I still wanna stay friends.”

“I'm sorry I had to do that to you but you know I had to do it alone, and you're right, I should have called,” Jesus confessed, “I thought you didn't wanna hear from me anymore.”

“We've been friends for longer than we've been dating, Paul, that doesn’t have to change, especially when we both moved on,” Arron said, looking at Daryl, “That's your new boyfriend?” 

This was it, this was Daryl's chance to do something for Jesus, to make this situation a bit less awkward for him, so before Jesus could even answer, Daryl linked their arms together and took Jesus' hand, intertwining their fingers together. “Yeah, I am, name's Daryl Dixon,” he quickly rolled the words off his tongue, answering for Jesus as the shocked man watched him in awe, “you two friend's of Paul's?” 

“I'm Aaron and this is Eric,” the taller man with blonde curly hair introduced himself and his date, a short redhead, with a brilliant smile, “we used to go to college with Paul. It's nice to meet you, Daryl.”

“Aaron, honey, we're gonna be late for our reservation, we gotta go,” the Eric finally spoke, “Paul, don't be a stranger, call us, okay? Maybe we can go on a double date sometime,” he offered and winked at Daryl.

All this time, Jesus was staring at Daryl, his mouth open, he’d never expected Daryl to initiate physical contact so boldly. He waved goodbye to the couple, watching them turn the corner, out of view, and turned back to Daryl. 

“They're gone, you can stop faking now. Why'd you do that?”

“Didn't want ya to stand there alone when your ex already moved on,” Daryl confessed, still linked to Jesus' arm, “I know I don't amount to much but better havin’ me pretend to be your boyfriend than admitting ya still didn’t find anyone new.”

Jesus laughed, “Thanks, and don’t sell yourself short, from the looks they gave you, they would have loved to trade places with me any second but seriously, Daryl, you're beautiful.”

“Stop,” Daryl grunted, bashfully releasing Jesus' arm. He always had a hard time accepting compliments.

“No, I mean it, you're beautiful,” Jesus said, taking Daryl's hand, “Let's go home.”

They walked a few blocks in silence, hand in hand and by the time they got into in the elevator, Daryl's hands were sweaty, his heart was racing as fast as the thoughts in his head. He thought of all the possible outcomes of what he was about to do. He was about to kiss another man. After thirty years of resisting the temptation, he was finally ready to give in and hoped Jesus would kiss him back or at least won't punch him in the jaw for it.

“Jesus,” Daryl whispered, getting the other man's attention as the elevator doors closed, isolating them from preying eyes.

He could feel those tingles, traveling through his spine again as he looked into Jesus' eyes, now green, mixed with the yellow indoor lighting. He let himself get absorbed into them as he slowly leaned in and softly pressed his lips against the other man’s, closing his eyes and awaiting a blow of anger that he was certain would come when Jesus recovers from the shock of what he had just done.

Instead, he could feel Jesus releasing his hand and wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him down into a deeper kiss. Their lips moved against each other until Jesus parted Daryl’s lips and invading his mouth with his tongue, possessively taking control and Daryl let him because this was so much better than anything he'd ever imagined. This was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: Next chapter is the reason I tagged this fic as explicit ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After hours of sweating, blushing and cursing, I have finally popped my smut writing cherry. Thank you all for the comments, they're tremendously encouraging. I hope you enjoy!

Still engulfed in the frenzy of his first kiss, Daryl relented all control and Jesus had him instantly pinned in the corner of the elevator. He spread his legs, allowing the painter to get closer, wrapping him in his arms, their chests pressed together as Jesus' hands traveled through Daryl's hair. He could feel Jesus’ heart racing in his chest as as their lips moved against each other in a sensual kiss.

They made out in the elevator as it kept going up and down between floors, but neither one of them cared when the doors opened and neighbors gasped at the sight of them, refusing to board, letting them retreat back into their limited privacy, until they heard a woman's voice. “Mr. Monroe,” an elderly woman spoke up as the doors opened on Jesus' floor. Jesus tore himself away from Daryl, “Mrs Neidermeyer, hello,” he greeted his maid.

The old lady smiled. “Hello, so you've finally found someone new, good for you, son. It's about time. I won't be able to come in Monday and I figured you've already made a mess by now so I came to clean. I left you some pasta in the fridge too.” She gave Daryl a once over look while making her way into the elevator, while Jesus pulled the flustered man out by the hand. “What a handsome chap, you two have fun now,” she said waving them goodbye as the doors closed behind them.

Daryl was blushing crimson from his neck to the tips of his ears, he was in a desperate battle with his body, trying to get his breathing back to normal. Jesus unlocked his door with his free hand, as he held on to Daryl’s for dear life, afraid his muse would disappear into thin air, like an illusion, if he lets go. His hand was shaking from excitement causing him to miss the lock with his key a couple of times.

When the finally managed to unlock the door, he pulled Daryl inside. Jesus reached up to lock lips with his muse again, needing him more than he needed air to breathe.

Absorbed into the kiss, they carelessly moved through the living room, bumping into furniture along the way. Daryl backed up until his legs hit the couch, he extended himself on it, breaking apart their kiss, pulling Jesus down by the collar of his shirt so the younger man can sit on top of him.

“Didn't know you like men,” Jesus murmured, “didn't know you liked me.”

“Didn't let myself like men, until now, was a coward,” Daryl whispered, unbuttoning Jesus' shirt and pulling it off of him, exposing his firm but slender torso. “You're the first person I dared to kiss,” he admitted.

“I'm so glad you did,” Jesus smiled at him, as he quickly processed what Daryl’s words meant. “Are we going too fast? We can slow down if you want,” Jesus offered, trying to conceal his erection, while Daryl struggled with his belt.

“No, I've waited enough for this,” Daryl groaned, giving up on Jesus’ stubborn belt buckle and unbuttoning his own jeans instead, allowing his boner some extra space. He was set on his goal, he had to do it, to ask for it, he wanted to offer himself to Jesus. “I, uh, I gotta ask ya something,” Daryl swallowed hard and closed his eyes, letting himself picture what Jesus could do to him, how it will probably hurt but he had no doubt in his mind that it will be worth it because he wanted to see this man take control of his body, overpowered by pleasure. Jesus sat down on his knees in between Daryl's parted legs and patiently waited for Daryl to finish his sentence while he strategically covered the bulge that had formed in his jeans with his hands, he didn’t want to pressure Daryl into anything he wasn’t prepared for.

He took a deep breath and let the words out slowly, as calmly as he could, “Jesus, I want you to fuck me. I wanna know what it feels like to be yours tonight. I want you to take my virginity.”

“Are you sure that's what you want?” Jesus was stunned by Daryl’s request. “We can do it the other way around too, or we don't have to do it at all. We don't have to do it right away, on your first time.” Jesus resisted the urge to undress Daryl and take him to bed momentarily, instead he caressed Daryl's cheek gently and looked into his eyes, “but if that's what you really want, I won't deny it to you, I won't deny you anything, ever.”

Daryl kissed him softly. “It's all I wanted since the moment I met you,” he whispered, “take me. Take all of me,” he pleaded as he sat up and took off his leather vest and threw it on the floor, he kicked off his shoes and they were shortly followed by his jeans and boxers as Jesus helped him pull them off. 

Daryl felt exposed, standing almost completely naked in front of Jesus. He was still wearing his undershirt, over which he crossed his arms protectively. He doubted he could reveal the scars that sullied his back without repulsing Jesus and rising his concern over his past.

Jesus could tell what Daryl was thinking, reading his body language and the concern in his eyes but he wouldn’t admit it to Daryl, not now, when he was about to have a chance to show him what it felt like to be loved, treasured, even worshiped. He closed the distance between them and pulled Daryl into a hug.

“It's okay, you don't have to take everything off, you're perfect like that,” he whispered in his ear. They stayed like that for a moment, Daryl getting himself used to the warmth of Jesus' body, until he leaned into Jesus’ comforting embrace, letting his words sink into his consciousness. Perfect... this man wanted him to feel like he was perfect, the exact opposite of how the rest of the world and his own mind viewed him. He let out the breath he was holding when Jesus lowered his arm and placed his hand on Daryl's cock, he smeared the bead of pre come that had formed on the tip with his thumb and buried his face in Daryl's neck as Daryl let out a surprised moan. Jesus sucked on the exposed sensitive skin next to Daryl's collarbone while pumping his dick, erasing every ounce of doubt Daryl had and filling him with lust. “Ready?” he asked him and Daryl nodded in agreement.

He let go of Daryl and took one last glimpse of him under the bright living room lights, his mind unconsciously memorizing every little detail of Daryl's body. “You're fucking beautiful,” he repeated the second time that day and this time Daryl smiled instead of telling him to stop. “If you say so,” he replied, it was the best he could do to acknowledge the compliment. Jesus took Daryl's hand and lead him into his bedroom, kicking off his boots and slipping out of his pants and underwear in the process. He didn't turn the lights on, leaving the room dark, solely illuminated by the city lights and gentle moonlight glow coming from outside. He put his hands on Daryl's shoulders and directed him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Jesus sunk to his knees in front of him and looked up at Daryl with the moonlight illuminating his face. Daryl nervously dug his nails into the bed, he expected Jesus to just bend him over and take him by now. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be anything like the rough sex he pictured between two men would be like. 

“Let's start with getting you to relax,” Jesus said, noticing signs of tension in Daryl's posture, he put his hand on Daryl's knee and rubbed it reassuringly. “You can stop me at any time, let me know if you change your mind, if you don't like something or if I'm accidentally hurting you because I'd never want to hurt you. Okay?”

Daryl nodded, loosening his grip on the blanket a little bit. “I just don't really know how this works, never looked into it, was too ashamed,” Daryl admitted.

Jesus gave him the sweetest, most earnest smile. “You don't have to worry about that, I'll talk you through it, you just gotta relax first. Just let me take care of you.”

“I trust ya,” Daryl groaned and Jesus took it as permission to take Daryl's cock in his mouth. 

He reached for Daryl's throbbing member and lowered his mouth to it slowly. He expertly traced his way up the shaft with his tongue, feeling artery pulsate under his touch and placed a wet kiss on the head. He takes one last look up at Daryl's face for any sign of resistance and when he doesn't find any he engulfs his whole length into his mouth.

Daryl felt like time was slowing down when Jesus started bobbing his head up and down, taking his erection into his mouth as deeply as he could. First time the head of his cock hit the back of Jesus' throat he let out a sinful moan, his hands let go of the blanket and instinctively traveled to Jesus' head. “Oh Jesus,” Daryl groaned, digging his fingers into Jesus' hair. Jesus let out a muffled chuckle, unable to tell if Daryl was cursing out loud or calling him by his pet name so he hummed in reply to Daryl's reaction, approving it regardless while keeping the rhythm of his movement slow and steady. He let go of the reassuring grip he had on Daryl's knee and moved his hand to caress Daryl's inner thigh making him whimper under his touch. Daryl rode the shock waves of pleasure Jesus' warm mouth created every time he took him deep into his throat until he could no longer hold himself upright and fell back onto the bed, letting go of Jesus' hair in the process.

Jesus released Daryl's cock from his mouth and crawled into bed next to him, proudly grinning, having achieved the result he wanted. He shifted a stray lock of Daryl's hair from his face and gently tucked it behind his ear. “Guess that did the trick, huh?”

“Ya didn't have to do that, I want ya to enjoy yourself,” Daryl whispered, still panting from the euphoric high he had just experienced.

“I already am,” Jesus whispered and pulled Daryl into a passionate kiss. Daryl let his lover’s tongue intertwine with his until he could taste the mix of Jesus’ saliva and his own pre cum in his mouth. Jesus broke the kiss to fill his lungs with air, he took a few breaths and reached for the knob on his bedside table's drawer. “Still want me inside you?” he asked Daryl again as he grabbed something from the drawer.

“Now, more than anything,” Daryl confirmed in one breath and Jesus pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom from the drawer. “You wanna stretch it yourself or should I do it?”

Daryl weighted both possibilities and realized there’s nothing he wanted more than to experience Jesus' fingers spreading him open, getting him ready to be filled with his cock. “You do it, I'm yours now,” he managed to say.

“Yeah, you are, come closer, beautiful,” he gestured Daryl to put his head on his out stretched arm, their foreheads touching as they lay facing each other, Jesus gave Daryl a soft kiss and Daryl could hear the bottle of lube popping open next to his ear. Jesus slid a bit down the bed and positioned Daryl's leg so it rested comfortably on his thigh, and closed the distance between them until their erections were pressed against each other. Jesus reached in between Daryl’s legs and he could feel his lubricated finger brushing against his entrance. “Do it,” he begged, closing his eyes, and Jesus pushed his finger in slowly, at first, then pulled it partially back out watching Daryl's biting his lip as he got accustomed to the sensation. 

His facial expression changed to one of ecstasy as Jesus went in deeper, brushing against his prostate. Daryl buckled his hips into Jesus in surprise, their cocks rubbing against each other. “Do that again, please,” Daryl whimpered, pushing himself onto Jesus' finger, desperately seeking to feel that sensation again. “Was about to, but I wanna hear you beg for it some more, your voice is so damn sexy like that,” Jesus teased as he stretched Daryl's entrance with the tip of his finger. Daryl felt embarrassed at how needy he sounded but since Jesus wanted him to beg he decided to oblige, he reached down and took Jesus' erect penis into his hand and stroked it gently with his rough hands. “I want this inside me, please,” he implored.

“Not yet, gorgeous, not yet. I'm gonna stretch you real good so it won't hurt. You want me to add another finger?” Daryl nodded several times in agreement and Jesus pushed two fingers in, brushing against his prostate harder. He was quivering as the euphoric sensation traveled through every cell of his body like ripples on a calm lake's surface. The younger man pressed Daryl's head onto his biceps as the man desperately whimpered, while he fucked him with two fingers. Daryl was doing his best to stroke his lover's dick, hoping it would be enough to give in return for what he was feeling at that very moment. “You're doing so good, you know that,” Jesus purred when Daryl let go of his primal instinct and bit into his neck, tugging his skin with his teeth, followed by licking and kisses to sooth his skin. “One more,” Daryl pleaded in between the wet kisses he was laying on Jesus' neck and collarbone. 

“Well, look at you, taking initiative,” Jesus smiled and added another finger filling him in as Daryl pressed onto his hand. They kept going until Daryl couldn't take it anymore, he grabbed Jesus' face and kissed him wildly, parting his lips, slipping his tongue inside, tugging his lower lips down with his teeth. “I want you in me, right fucking now,” he demanded.

Jesus turned over onto his back, tore the condom wrapper open. He rolled the condom down his length, then he covered his hand in lube, tossing the bottle aside and stroking his member a few times. “Then come here and get it,” he said playfully, grinning.

Daryl straddled him, he slid his butt crack against Jesus' erection as the younger man held his dick up for him and sunk onto it, watching it disappear into him. Jesus moaned Daryl's name, burying his face into his muse's undershirt as Daryl set up a pace, sliding half way back out and slamming his body onto Jesus' length in search of release. With hooded eyes, Jesus watched Daryl as he rocked against his body, all tension and anxiety seemed to have vanished from his mind, revealing a whole new person that was hidden underneath. He was unrecognizable, completely incomparable to the skittish man he met last night. “Fuck, you're perfect,” Jesus moaned, “I'm gonna lose it if you keep this up.” 

Daryl slowed down, realizing that this is not how he imagined giving himself to Jesus before he had to leave him behind and return to his old life. He paused and wiped the sweat off of his forehead with his forearm. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding on to, he rolled himself off of Jesus, turned to lay his back and spread his legs for his lover. “Take me. Make me yours,” he pleaded.

Jesus crawled on top of him, pinning him down to the bed by holding onto his shoulders, he pushed his way back into Daryl’s stretched hole, burying himself in Daryl’s warmth. “Look at me,” Jesus pleaded and Daryl opened his eyes wide and Jesus found it once again, that spark in Daryl's eyes, now intense like a burning fire, the same one he had seen the night before, not letting it get away from his sight this time, Jesus forbid himself to blink. He rode him hard, absorbed by his beauty and the ever changing expressions of Daryl’s face as the man cursed under his breath, his nails clawing burning trails onto his back. “You are mine, come for me, Daryl,” he whispered as he pulled Daryl closer, pulling out completely and sliding back into him with a sharp thrust of his hips, he was sure he hit the right spot as he watched Daryl shatter underneath him, feeling the pulse of his body around him. Daryl come as he rolled his head back, emptying his load on his exposed stomach, Jesus thrust into his lover slowly a few more times and let himself burst like fireworks, moaning Daryl's name.

He slid out of his lover and pulled him into his embrace. He kissed Daryl’s forehead as he cleaned him up, whispering compliments into his ear. Daryl stayed speechless, he felt like he was floating back to reality after he had a glimpse heaven. “Guess what? I'm yours as much as you are mine,” murmured Jesus as they fell asleep in each other's arms.

\----------------------------

Daryl's internal clock woke him up before sunrise, he carefully crawled out of bed, sliding out from under Jesus’ arm. He took in how beautiful his lover looked while he dreamt. He walked to the bathroom in complete darkness, knowing that he would never be able to leave if Jesus were to woke up and begged him to stay. His brother needed him, Daryl was all he had, he had to go, it was better for everyone this way. Everyone, except him. He convinced himself that Jesus could easily find someone a hundred times better than him, while he washed the remnants of the cum that was stuck to his stomach with a wet towel in silence, afraid that the running water would disturb Jesus’ sleep. After picking up his clothes from all over the living room, he got dressed in the shadows. He found a pen, it shook in his hand while he held his tears in and scribbled an apology on a piece of paper in the moonlight, letting his guilt and shame take ahold of him, he poured his feelings onto the piece of paper. He took one last glance into the bedroom where his sleeping lover lay in bed, unsuspecting that he will wake up alone. “I'm sorry,” he mouthed in Jesus' direction, leaving the note on the kitchen island where Jesus so eagerly prepared him breakfast in the morning.

He let himself cry a little in the elevator, knowing he will never be able to come back into the artist's loving embrace after what he’d just done. By the time he was downstairs he had put his mask on, bottling his emotions back in because he was a Dixon and Dixon men don't cry. 

He sneaked past the security guard and made his way outside, on his way to find Merle's sorry ass, convinced his brother was already on his way to returning to his bad habits. He made his way to the shelter on foot, kicking whatever trash was in his way in attempt to channel the hate he had for himself, what he’d done and everything around him as his heart ached in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: Don't worry. He'll be back. Our fandom suffers enough already so there's no way I'll leave them without a happy ending.


	5. Chapter 5

It has been more than a month since Jesus woke up, eager to embrace his new lover, to find the other side of his bed empty and cold. He called out his name loud enough for Daryl to hear if he was still anywhere in the apartment but no answer came. He looked for him but Daryl was gone, the only proof that he had been more than a figment of Jesus’ imagination was a short apology letter he left for Jesus to find on the kitchen island. 

__

__

“Dear Paul,

I’m sorry I had to leave you after all you’ve done for me but I can’t be the person you think I can become. I got too much baggage and I need to deal with it alone. While I was with you I forgot about it all for the first time and I’m very grateful to you about that. I will forever regret not saying goodbye to you in person but I knew that if you were there to stop me and asked me to stay I would never be able to leave. You deserve so much more than I can offer you so I hope you forget about me quickly. 

Goodbye. 

-Daryl”

That day Jesus didn’t know what to think, he he felt like that night they established a connection but maybe Daryl didn’t feel the same. He didn’t care about the baggage Daryl had, he wished he’d opened up to him and allowed him to help him with the burdens he carried. He questioned his actions and the things he’d said, trying to find whatever is that spooked Daryl off. He stayed home for a week, hoping his muse would change his mind and come back. The week after, he went to look for him in the area where they first met, checking all the shelters in the vicinity and started volunteering in several the soup kitchens expecting to cross Daryl’s path again but Daryl never showed up. 

Eventually Jesus went to the police with Daryl’s note and a detailed sketch he made of him but they were of no help, they couldn’t file a missing person’s report since it was clear that Daryl left on his own accord and his note showed no signs of him being a danger to himself. Desperate to be reunited with his lover and afraid that something happened to him, he started calling the hospitals. 

He called Aaron and Eric when he started searching, they have been supportive at first, bringing Jesus comfort food and checking in a few shelters on their own but as time passed they started being concerned with Jesus’ behavior. 

They started encouraging him to go out more, to more normal places which was basically them dragging him along to their dates, sometimes trying to convince him to talk to some random guy they thought could be a good match for him. They were sitting opposite him in a crowded Starbucks when Jesus started writing down phone numbers of morgues that he looked up on his smartphone on a napkin, intent to called them looking for someone matching Daryl’s description later.

“Stop,” Aaron finally spoke up, making heads turn into their direction. “Just stop,” he said in a calmer but still imposing tone, “he’s not hurt or dead. He just doesn’t want to be found by you. He’s avoiding all those places he knows you might look for him. Let him go. If he wants to to see you again, he’ll find you.” 

“You’re right,” Jesus said reluctantly, his voice small and broken, barely any louder the the ambient chatter of the café. He put his phone down and lowered his head in shame. All this time he had been thinking of himself, of how much he wanted Daryl back, to be able to explore their relationship further but maybe there was no connection between them, the potential of the relationship was just a figment of his imagination turned into a wild obsession. Daryl might not have wanted that in the first place, or he wasn’t ready for it and he might never be. He had to come to terms with the reality where he had to go on living his life without filling the void that Daryl created when he left. 

On his walk home, tormented by what Aaron said and the freezing autumn rain, Jesus vowed to relent his search but decided to still keep volunteering at the soup kitchens. Daryl might never show up there but helping people was something he wanted to keep doing anyway, thinking of how much a homeless person would enjoy a warm meal in that kind of weather. He would occupy the rest of his time with painting. Back home, he covered canvas after canvas with abstract representation of his emotions, until the early hours of the morning. Once in awhile turning back and adding a small detail to a large portrait he had started of his runaway muse, refusing to finish it and let him go completely.

\-------------------

Daryl sat on the porch of the cheapest motel his brother could find, he lit up a cigarette and drew from it, the red embers illuminated his face in the dark for a brief moment before flying away with a chilly gust of wind. He exhaled, letting his breath and cigarette smoke unite in the cold air of this rainy November night.

Merle was inside their room with a couple of hookers who were paying for the drugs he sold in an unconventional way and Daryl wanted no part in it. From the day he reunited with his brother, Merle was already set his mind on returning to dealing. They hopped from motel to motel, never staying in one place for too long. Burner phones, bed bugs and Merle were the only consistent things in Daryl’s life now. 

The door opened with a creek and the hookers walked out, disheveled and woozy. They waved bye to Daryl, staring blankly in his direction with dilated pupils. He snorted, the only way someone would bang Merle is if they’re high as a kite on his merch. He wondered if people felt the same about him, if anyone in their right mind would ever want him again, after he ruined his chances with the only person that did. 

He walked back into the room where Merle lay in bed, partially dressed, flicking from one channel to another, trying to find something other than late night infomercials on TV.

“Got any smokes left, baby brother?” He asked. 

“Last one,” Daryl handed him the half smoked cigarette he didn’t bother reigniting, “got any drugs left? Sure looked like your girls sampled a bit to many.” 

“Was worth it,” Merle said grinning, “you should have seen the tricks they pulled tonight.”

“Do you have drugs left or not?” Daryl repeated, losing his temper.

“Shit, don’t get your panties in a twist. I wouldn't sell all my stash for pussy. Why? You want some?” Merle raised an eyebrow.

Daryl sighed. “Just give me somethin’ so I don’t feel like shit for a night.” 

“Should have joined the fun earlier, those girls were damn eager to please after one of these,” Merle said as he pulled out a small plastic container full of pills, he handed one to Daryl. 

“They’re not my type,” Daryl grumbled and downed the pill with a sip of leftover warm beer. 

“Baby brother, I ain’t never seen one that is your type, you into nuns or virgins or something?” Merle mocked him.

“Fuck off, Merle, I ain’t tellin’ ya shit,” Daryl hissed, avoiding the question. He wasn’t about to lie to Merle but he’d never dare to tell him the truth either. 

“Fine, I’ll figure it out eventually. Do whatever, I’m off to sleep,” Merle said and tossed the remote to Daryl. “Drink lots of water, the pill will have ya sweatin like a sinner in church in no time.” He covered himself with the blanked and turned away.

Daryl made himself comfortable on the couch, he flicked through the channels to the sound of Merle snoring in the background until his vision became blurry and his mind strayed away from his constant worries and sadness to the dim bedroom where the moon illuminated his lover’s face as he held him in his arms while he fell asleep. Jesus’ voice echoed in his mind, “I’m yours,” it kept repeating as the blurry room spun around him. He could feel his hands touching him everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. Daryl lifted his head and looked out the window, he could see the city lights dance in the rain. He couldn’t separate reality from his drug induced illusions anymore when someone knocked on the door or did he imagine it. The sound of Merle snoring somewhere he couldn’t place made him realize he had to check if he hadn’t imagined it. He stood up and followed the wall to where he remembered the door should be, searching for the knob as everything swirled around him in a colorful whirlwind from the depths of his subconscious mind.  
He steadied himself using the knob and removed the chain from the door, his sweaty hand shaking wildly. The moment the lock clicked open the door swung open with force, hitting him in the face and knocking him down to the floor. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Daryl growled as shadows filled the room.


	6. Chapter 6

That night Jesus went to sleep early, lulled by the sound of heavy rain falling upon the city roofs. In the midst of heavy sleep, his unconscious mind jolted him awake to loud thundering noise. He swore as he looked at his alarm clock: 3:10 AM. The noise came back, it was no thunder in the midst of cold November rain, it was someone knocking on his door at 3 in the morning. 

He got up and made his way to the door, dressed solely in his pajama pants, he rubbed his eyes and dragged his feet along the laminated floors. No news he could receive at 3 in the morning could be good. When he opened the door he realized how wrong he was. 

“Daryl?” Jesus asked in disbelief. 

There he stood, shivering and pale, still holding his fist in the air like he didn’t know what to do now that the door has been opened because knocking endlessly seemed to be as far as he planned. Daryl didn’t notice he was drenched from head to toe or that he’d actually made his way to Jesus’ apartment after aimlessly walking through the streets in the pouring rain. He was still affected by whatever pill Merle gave him, dream and reality still blurred in his thoughts. 

“Jesus, I’m so sorry, I fucked up,” he muttered, lowering his arm, thinking he was apologizing to another figment of his imagination. 

Jesus swooped him up into a hug, pressing Daryl’s drenched body against his bare chest. Daryl lowered his head into Jesus’ shoulder and just stood there, shivering under his clothes against Jesus’ warm bare skin, as droplets of water traveled down from his hair to the shorter man’s back and down his spine, making him feel awake.

Daryl rubbed his face against Jesus’ neckline, feeling the warmth of his skin under his frozen lips.

“This feels so real,” he whispered, consumed by the warmth.

“It is real,” Jesus told him, perplexed by what he had just heard. 

Daryl squirmed and pulled away. “No. No way. I’m… I’m seein’ shit. I left ya. I left ya ‘cause I’m a piece of shit.” He bit into his already swollen lip, split where it had made contact with the motel door, breaking the scab that formed on his wound and drawing blood into his mouth. He feel it’s taste it on his tongue but but his pain was dampened by the drugs and he refused to believe he wasn’t imagining things. His mind has been a haze of dancing lights, changing colors, frantic movement and unexplainable sensations ever since he took that damn pill. 

“Why do I keep seeing ya everywhere?” Daryl yelled, “I wanna forget you,” his face turned somber, “Forget that I hurt ya.”

He wiped his eye with the back of his hand, there was no point holding back his sorrow in front of a figment of his imagination. 

“Daryl, calm down,” Jesus said as drew closer, holding his hands in front of him in surrender like he was approaching a panicked, wounded animal. “Let me look at you.” 

He cupped his face with his hands, feeling Daryl shiver under his touch, his skin cold and still wet from the rain. No matter how much Daryl evaded making eye contact, Jesus could see his pupils were dilated. His eyes shifted from place to place, distracted by things that weren't really there. 

Jesus’s thumb made it’s way through Daryl’s stubble as he tried to get Daryl to focus on him. “Daryl, are you high?” He asked, hoping it was the simple explanation for why his muse returned in such a state. 

“Yeah,” Daryl confessed, “I’m sorry. I…I wanted to forget…” 

Jesus shook his head. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re back.” 

He wanted to kiss him, to make it all better but this Daryl was no longer the man that had shared a bed with him a month ago. The hesitation he was showing was a sign that their relationship has taken a turn in the opposite direction. Daryl went backwards into his shell and Jesus would never force him back out. 

He collected his thoughts, the least he could do to help was to warm Daryl up after he’d been under the cold rain for God knows how long. He took his hand and led him to the bathroom where started filling the tub with hot water. 

“Get in,” he requested. Daryl clenched the buttons of his shirt, holding them together and violently shook his head.

Jesus sighed and stepped into the tub himself. “You don’t have to take anything off, just get in,” he asked again. “C’mon, you’re freezing cold. You need to warm up.” He pulled Daryl’s arm gently. 

Daryl grunted but relented, he kicked off his shoes and stepped into the tub, fully clothed, still clenching his shirt in a tight grip as he immersed himself into the water and Jesus sat behind him. He pressed his back against Jesus’ chest and wriggled his body down into the hot water. He made himself comfortable, sitting in between Jesus’ legs and closed his eyes. “How can this feel so real?” He mumbled as his muscles relaxed.

They sat in the tub as the water level rose, Jesus watched Daryl’s skin turn pink as his body warmed up but it would still residually tremble in his arms once in awhile. “Daryl, talk to me,” he said as he close the pouring water. “I wanna know how I can help you.” 

Daryl sighed, he shifted under the water and wiped his sweating face with his hand. “I fucked up,” he said again, voicing the inner thought that tormented him. 

“Okay, you fucked up, fine,” Jesus let him follow his negative train of thought in hopes that it would lead to clearer answers, “but we can fix whatever you did. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

He concentrated on his memories, trying to detangle them from visions that couldn't possibly be real. 

“Merle was dealing some sort of new pills. He took ‘em too, dumbass, he’s on fucking parole. Said they made him feel good. So I tried one too. I started seeing shit that weren’t there, it felt good, for a while, like you were there with me,” he began explaining, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the details in his mind.

“Someone knocked, so fucking loud, I let them in just to make ‘em stop, shouldn’t have done that,” he shook his head, “so stupid.” He snorted, “door hit me in the face,” he added sheepishly. He touched his lip, feeling soreness as the lesion made contact with his fingers. “Yeah, that was real.” 

“They yelled at Merle. That he was on their turf, he was selling on their turf. He knew he was, didn’t give a shit. They fought. There was like four of them and I couldn’t even get up. They dragged him into their car and… and… I tried to fight them too but I was on the ground and they kicked me,” Daryl rubbed ribs, realizing for the first time they actually hurt. Jesus’ expression turned pained, he could see Daryl flinch as he poked at his ribcage but didn’t want to interrupt his confession. 

“I fucked up so bad. I… I ran after the car… And ended up here. I don’t know why I’m here,” Daryl finished. 

“Daryl, you’re here because that’s where you feel safe,” Jesus told him, “and you are. You’re safe here.” 

“No. I shouldn’t be here. I fucked up, Jesus, I fucked up real bad. I shouldn’t be here,“ he mumbled under his breath, realizing that everything around him was real. It was anything short of a miracle that he’d made it to Jesus’ apartment after losing track of the car that took Merle and wandering aimlessly in the streets. His subconsciousness must have taken over at some point, fueled by his constant regret of letting Jesus wake up alone after a one night stand where he’d selfishly used him to quench his thirst for affection. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeated, hating himself. 

A more recent source of guilt hit him hard and he stood up, creating a wave of bath water that flooded the floor. 

“I’m so fucking stupid” he scolded himself, making sense of what happened in the motel. “Merle! They got Merle. They took my brother. Shit!” He made his way to the living room, leaving a trail of puddles in his way and kicked over the coffee table, overpowered by rage that passed through him like a lightning bolt. “I let my guard down.” 

“Daryl,” Jesus exclaimed, “calm down. We can fix this.” 

“How?” He screamed back as he turned around, trying to contain the rollercoaster of emotions he was experiencing as his brain was struggling with his crashing high. “I don’t know where the fuck they took him and we can’t tell the cops,” he admitted, completely defeated. 

“I might have a way to find him if we’re lucky,” Jesus admitted, “what area was your brother selling in?” Jesus asked patiently. 

“Motels, a bunch of ‘em, one near a bowling alley. Another one near the soup kitchen that always has lasagna on Sundays.” 

Jesus knew the one, he volunteered there two days a week, he knew their menu by heart. “Fuck, okay, here’s what we’re gonna do, I’m going to give you a towel and some clothes and you’re dry yourself and get dressed. Can you do that?” Daryl nodded in accord. 

“Good. While you do that I’m going to get your brother out of trouble and then we’re going to the hospital.”

“Hospital? Why?” 

“Because you just told me someone fuckers kicked you in the chest and you look like you’ve been through hell, that’s fucking why,” Jesus growled, having lost his temper momentarily. Daryl lowered his head in response, the painter was finally showing his true emotions and that probably wasn’t the whole extent of them, there’s no way he wasn’t pissed at him after what he did. Jesus regretted his outburst momentarily. 

“I’m sorry. I just need to make sure you’re going to be fine and if everything works out well, your brother is going to meet us there.”

He swept his closet for some clean, comfortable clothes for Daryl to wear, leaving them in the bathroom with a towel just like he said, Daryl scurried inside and locked himself in. Jesus dried himself and changed his clothes as well and proceeded to look up a contact in his phone, it was among the many he had cryptically marked by a combination of letters and numbers. He hated what he was about to do because it brought dark memories from his past to the surface but there was no helping it tonight. Daryl needed his brother. Merle was the burden that Daryl was so afraid to share with Jesus and he had to prove to him that he could handle anyone or anything if that meant that Daryl would stick around. Even under the influence of an unknown narcotic, Daryl still trusted him and that was worth holding on to. 

Jesus cleared his throat and dialed. “Hey asshole, this is Paul Rovia, pass the phone to whoever’s in charge,” he ordered showing no signs of hesitation in his voice. 

“Listen up, it has come to my attention that you’re questioning someone of value to me so you better stop whatever you’re doing to him and get his ass to the closest hospital before well… you know the drill. Chop chop, you have thirty minutes to get him there. Better get moving.” 

He hung up and dropped the phone on the couch, disgusted in his behavior, he just threatened someone. He did something he swore he wouldn’t do again. It was an empty threat but he might have to follow up on it if they don’t hand over Daryl’s brother and that made him sick to his stomach. He might have to call his... 

“Paul…. Rovia?” Came Daryl’s shaky voice from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. He was dressed in a warm sweatshirt and comfortable pants that Jesus handed him, the shirt absorbed water from his hair where it touched his shoulders. 

“Rovia,” Daryl repeated, “like the mob family Rovia?” 

“Yeah, that same one,” Jesus admitted, “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I’ll explain later, I promise. Now, if you still trust me even a little bit, let’s go meet your brother.”

Daryl nodded, he was sure what he’d heard was no figment of his imagination. Lights were no longer dancing in his vision and he could feel his ribs throbbing in pain. His mouth was dry but he didn’t dare ask for water. He didn’t dare ask of anything more from Jesus’, may he be Paul Monroe, the painter or Paul Rovia, mystery man somehow related to the mob, because this man had offered him so much more than he ever deserved. He had no reason to mistrust Jesus so he followed him out the door without hesitation. 

“My brother, he’s a racist, misogynistic dick and a homophobe,” Daryl informed Jesus to the sound of annoying elevator music on their way down.

“But you love him anyway,” said Jesus, “because he’s family.” He knew how that felt. 

“Yeah,” Daryl confessed, “because he’s family. Don’t tell him about us… about me. I don’t know what he’d do if he found out I’m...”

“Gay? Yeah, I won’t,” Jesus said understandingly.

\---------

Merle was already in the ER when they arrived, lying through his teeth that he’d been in a car accident as the nurse patched him up. He flew out of bed at the sight of Daryl and crushed him in a bear hug that made them both flinch in pain from their injuries. He recognized the man, having met him at the soup kitchen a few times, he’d always take a plate to go, no doubt destined for Daryl.

“His baggage is my baggage now,” Jesus said to himself. He’d hide his identity, his feelings for Daryl, he’d keep everything a secret if it meant that Daryl would stay by his side.

Daryl had agreed to a checkup and luckily nothing but dehydration and cracked rib that would heal on his own if he didn’t do any strenuous exercise showed turned up on his chart. Jesus indiscreetly paid their hospital bills while the doctor was prescribing some heavy duty painkillers to both brothers before they got discharged. 

Merle kept glaring at him, not knowing if he should approach the familiar stranger that brought his brother in with him with gratitude or animosity.

“I’m Paul Monroe,” he introduced himself, “ I volunteer at the soup kitchen on 9th, we’ve met before. Daryl stayed at my place for a few nights a while ago so I volunteered to take you two home when he came to me and told me you got hurt” he said as-a-matter-of-factly, living them no place to protest. 

“What’s the catch?” Merle growled. 

“No catch, just wanna offer a helping hand, that’s all.” It earned him a suspicious look from Merle and Daryl almost choked on the water he was drinking after he downed his painkillers. 

He was dumbfounded, there was no end in sight to the extent of Jesus’ kindness. He though he’d just leave them there but no, Jesus was a fucking saint who’d let trash like Daryl and a felon like Merle into his home full of valuables. Daryl had managed to hurt the kindest man in New York. They really needed to talk, to apologize, to explain everything but he couldn’t say a word in Merle’s presence. 

It was still dark when they got back to Jesus’ place and he urged the injured men to go get some rest, letting them take the bedrooms as he retreated to the couch. 

There he was, sharing his home with Daryl who was now asleep in his bed, safe and warm, where he belonged. In the other room was Daryl’s burden, his baggage that he was so afraid to share, his brother. The one person that Daryl would never break his bond with, because it was made of years of shared experiences and ran deep within their veins. He had to make due with what he’d been given, because he realized that the longing he felt for Daryl was stronger than anything else he’s felt before. The emptiness that he felt when Daryl was gone, the insanity that plagued his mind when he didn’t know if Daryl was okay and the rage that burned in his chest when he found out someone hurt the man that he wanted so desperately to protect were all signs that the was in love. He was madly in love with Daryl.

Meanwhile, Daryl tossed and turned under the covers, dreaming of all the ways he could make everything with Jesus right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I used the wrong last name for Jesus from the moment I posted the first chapter and it bothered me ever since. (That's what I get for looking at the A03 tags instead of googling it!) I hope you like the way I turned my mistake into a plot twist <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a month to update. I was having serious writer's block so I had to restart this chapter twice. I hope you like it!  
> Let me know of any typos and mistakes since I decided to post this chapter completely un-beta'd.

The pillow Daryl slept on smelled like Jesus’ hair, he pressed his face into it and inhaled deeply, the familiar scent made him feel even more at ease as he recovered in the artist’s bed. He knew he had to get up and face the mess he stirred up last night but his ribs ached mercilessly, protesting every shallow move he made. Actually, he really didn’t want to get up. Who knew what he would have to deal with now that he brought Merle into the equation. 

There was some noise coming from beyond the bedroom door. Daryl’s post mind numbing drug induced migraine hit him with a sharp pang with each invasive sound that reached his ears. 

“Wakey wakey, lil’ brother,” Merle yelled after knocking loudly at the door, “time to get up and take your meds!” 

“Merle, shut the hell up and let me rest,” Daryl answered loudly and turned over in his bed, covering himself entirely with the blanket and released a frustrated groan into the pillow. He wasn’t ready to deal with this bullshit. He didn’t know how or where to even begin doing damage control now that he was thinking clearly. 

“Aww Darlina needs her beauty sleep?” Merle mocked as he unceremoniously barged in, limped his way to the bed, pulled the blanket off of Daryl and threw it to the floor. “Get up, your pal Richy Rich made us breakfast.” 

Daryl just glared at him in contempt and rose to a sitting position. Jesus was watching the exchange from afar. Daryl could see him rolling his eyes. Seemingly annoyed, the young man refrained from saying anything. Daryl knew that Merle’s tactless insults and rash behavior wouldn't bode well with Jesus. 

“Technically, it’s brunch,” Jesus commented, wishing his new guest would let Daryl rest as much as he needed, “you can eat later if you want. There’s no rush. I can just reheat this later.” He was fascinated by how different the brothers were. 

Merle woke up past noon and was astonished to see Jesus cooking for him and his brother. Still, first thing he did when not knowing how to deal with the situation was to reach out for the support of his brother, albeit in the most obnoxious way possible. 

“Sure. Brunch. Whatever,” blurted Merle and ruffled Daryl’s already messy hair, “I’m starving, we’re eating now.” 

Daryl pushed his hand aside and got to his feet.

“Fine, I’m up,” he said covering his injured ribs with his palm and moving slowly toward Jesus. _I’m sorry_ , he mouthed as he passed by him.

\----------------

“Paul, you cook now?” Daryl asked mid meal to break the circle of apologetic looks he was giving Jesus as Merle rambled on and on, trying to unnecessarily reassure Jesus that him and Daryl are real manly men who can take care of themselves and really didn’t need him cooking for them.

“Yeah, realized I kinda like cooking since last time you were here. Started volunteering at soup kitchens and I found the process was relaxing, took my mind of of things. Other volunteers taught me a bunch of recipes too.”

“Well, aren’t ya the good samaritan,” Merle grumbled, his mouth full of baked potatoes. “You some sort of religious quack who helps deadbeats like us so you can lure them into your cult or something?”

Jesus couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s no cult, I swear,” he said, grinning wide, “I just wanted to help Daryl, that’s all. I’m an atheist actually.”

Merle just shrugged and started talking about this cult leader he met in jail. Jesus kept giving absentminded nods his way with an occasional smirk at Daryl when his brother wasn’t looking. Daryl would blush and look away immediately making it so hard for Jesus to resist him. 

But first, they really needed to talk. Privately.

\----------------

It wasn’t long before Merle passed out on the couch while watching TV, his pain killers were much stronger than Daryl’s and so was the drowsiness that accompanied them.

“Never seen someone pass out from talking too much,” Jesus joked.

Daryl was sitting next to him on the couch, completely relaxed and slightly drowsy himself. 

“Can we talk?” Jesus asked, keeping his voice low, just in case. He gestured towards the bedroom. Daryl nodded, concern surfacing in his eyes.

“About Merle? I know he’s a lot to handle—” Daryl almost whispered, looking at the floor. Jesus shook his head, his lips forming a kind, reassuring smile. 

“No, not him, about me. C’mon,” he said, taking Daryl by the wrist and leading the worried man into the seclusion of his bedroom. He sat down cross legged on the bed and gestured his muse to come sit next to him. Daryl hesitated for a moment but joined him, sitting at an arm length distance from the artist. Jesus cleared his throat and looked down to the floor under Daryl’s undivided attention. 

“I just… I wanted to explain, about yesterday. What you overheard on the phone… It’s something I hide from people.” 

“Wasn’t gonna ask,” Daryl said, shrugging. “None of my business. Besides, I trust you. Monroe or Rovia or whatever.” 

It was as if the air became heavy and Jesus took a deep breath before speaking again. Just having that name brought up seemed to affect Jesus in a negative way. 

“Daryl, I want us to be completely honest with each other. No more secrets. You can tell me anything, what you’re feeling, what’s bothering you, anything that’s on your mind I wanna know.” Jesus looked up at him, his blue eyes searching Daryl for agreement. “Anything,” he repeated and Daryl gave him a nervous nod. There was no way he could refuse and risk upsetting the beautiful soul before him.

“I’ll try,” he mumbled. He was never good at expressing his feelings and he always felt like the secrets he kept protected him from getting hurt. He’d rather take a punch than bare his feelings but he was willing to work on that. After all, when he expressed his needs to Jesus things would have turned out great if he didn’t ruin them by seeking his old life back. 

“That’s all I ask for,” Jesus said giving him a soulful look. “Anyway, I want to go first and talk to you about my past,” he added and Daryl nodded silently. “Truth is none of my friends know my last name used to be Rovia. No one knows, actually, that before I was Paul Monroe I had another life that I don’t want to be reminded of. I’m not a good person, Daryl. I’m just trying to atone for what I did. I constantly feel bad about it so whatever I do it’s never enough.”

“Tell me what you did. It’s not fair that I dumped all my problems on you. I want to help.”

“You already are, just by being here,” Jesus’ features softened, he was smiling through the painful memories that resurfaced in him. “I’m glad you’re back.” He reached for a pillow and handed it to Daryl. 

“You better make yourself comfortable then. This is a long story.” 

Daryl shifted into a more comfortable position, laying on his side and hugging the pillow, he looked at Jesus expectantly. The younger man was trusting him with an important secret. His own burden and Daryl was determined to help him bear it. Hell, just the thought of being able to offer some sort of support to someone who’s done so much for him made his chest flood with relief that he wasn’t a completely useless pain in the ass to Paul.

“When I was a kid I never asked myself why other kids avoided me. I had martial art classes, self defense ones, and my family would often take me to shooting ranges. I was pretty good at all of that too.” He smiled at his childish naiveté. “Still am. I thought they were just uncomfortable because I was always covered in bruises and pretending to fight imaginary enemies in the schoolyard.” The corner of Daryl’s lips curved upwards at the thought of a tiny Jesus kicking ass and shooting guns like a little badass. 

“I stuck to my siblings like glue, follow them around all the time. We were all close, dad was rarely around so they helped mom raise me. My first year of high school, one of my brothers was a senior, the eldest and my sister already graduated. That’s when I found out I was being groomed to take over part of the family business, the part I knew nothing about and everything started to make sense from there. I became aware of how people’s behavior changed after I introduced myself.”

Daryl didn’t like where this story was going. His mind was already drawing parallels between his life and Paul’s. 

“I found out we owned stores and dry cleaners and such for money laundering,” Jesus continued, “but we also owned a big chunk of the city’s drug and weapon trade. To prove that I was worthy of whatever they had in mind for me I was tasked to keep dealers at school under my control. My brother mentored me. It wasn’t bad at first, I just watched as he bossed people around while I counted the money, kept records, that sort of thing. Then he made me do it. I had to threatened my classmates, command respect, he called it. If anyone wanted to turn on me, I beat them up while my brother watched and he’d tell everyone at home how well I’m doing over dinner. I hated doing that but I didn’t want to disappoint my my whole family.”

“I had to do shit like that too. M’sorry. It sucks,” Daryl sympathized. He wished Jesus didn’t know how it felt. 

“Oh, it gets worse,” Jesus said with a dry snicker, “back then I used to have a crush on this guy, he was on the football team, one of the few scholarship students at our school. He was one of my brother’s dealers, wanted to make a quick buck when his dad lost his job. We talked, often. He didn’t avoid me like everyone else. I liked him so I confessed and he felt the same. He was the first guy I ever dated, my first everything.” 

Jesus spoke of the young man with a whimsical smile. His mind drifted to his first time, their car parked in the bushes near an abandoned factory, away from everyone as they tried to figure out what worked for them, scuffling around in the back seat. He was engulfed in nostalgia for mere seconds before guilt swept his thoughts away, leaving a feeling of complete emptiness and dread. He had no right to fondly think of that time, he ruined that young man’s life. 

Daryl’s eyes were on him, observing his every move with a possessive glare. He couldn’t help but to feel jealous thinking of him with another guy. Especially when he wanted to believe that all the things Paul said on their first night together still stood true. 

_I’m yours,_ Jesus’ words echoed through his mind but now was really not the time to ask if he meant it. 

“Anyway,” Jesus digressed, bringing Daryl back to reality, “we saw each other in secret for a long time. One day he told me he was close to getting a full sports scholarship and he wanted out of the business, he couldn’t risk being caught anymore. I promised I’d deal with it. I asked my brother to let him off the hook he asked why so I came out to him. He seemed okay with it but then things didn’t go so well.” He paused, he didn’t expect to get so emotional over his past. Even if time faded details, the pain was still there.

“What happened?” Daryl asked, his voice soft as silk in response to Jesus’ soul crushing expression. 

“I was asked to make an example out of him, in front of my whole family. They just drove me to this big field in the middle of nowhere at night and he was there, surrounded by all of ‘em and some people I’ve never met before, like twenty of them. My dad was there and I just had to do what he said, I couldn’t disappoint him in front of all these people. So I obeyed. I… beat him up. With a baseball bat.” Tears were now running down his cheeks as haunting sound of bones breaking on contact with his weapon as the crowd cheered, his dad’s smug face illuminated in the headlights of the surrounding cars. The final blow to the knees that assured his boyfriend wouldn’t get up anymore so he wouldn’t end up killing him. 

Daryl instinctively jolted up into sitting position. Consoling someone wasn’t something he knew how to do well but he knew he had to do something, even if he was speechless. That’s when Jesus started to sob and within an instant Daryl had his arms wrapped around him, crushing their chests together with unnecessary force that made his ribs hurt. 

“He never got that scholarship,” Jesus uttered, his voice breaking. 

Jesus kept pouring out his regret solely interrupted by his own sobs as Daryl held him close and shushed him softly. After being hospitalized and avoiding all contact, Jesus’ boyfriend disappeared, along with his family.

“I just hated myself afterwards,” Jesus kept explaining, his tears soaking through Daryl’s sleeve onto his shoulder, “hated what I did so I started distancing myself from my family until I graduated. I just locked myself in my room and drew stuff to express myself because I couldn’t talk to anybody about how I felt.”

It was a better coping mechanism than Daryl ever had, he’d just pick fights anywhere he went.

“Everyone was so pissed that I quit after all of this,” Jesus continued through his tears, “my mom, she kinda understood and eventually I came to an agreement with my dad. I had to keep appearances that our family was whole in front of all his friends and workers so he would leave me alone afterwards. Then I changed my last name to my mom’s maiden name and started a new life, went to college. I barely talk to my family now, my dad calls me sometimes, tries to talk me into coming back and reminds me I’m a disappointment when I refuse.” Jesus wiped the tears off his face, still constricted in Daryl’s extremely tight but genuine hug. “Daryl, you can let go now,” he pleaded, “you’re gonna hurt yourself,” ignoring that he could barely breath. 

Daryl let go and settled his hands on Jesus’ shoulders giving them a slight squeeze. “You better stop crying now or I’ll hug you again,” he jested. Jesus let out a chuckle among his relenting sobs and gave Daryl a flustered smile. 

“Sorry,” he uttered, “this happened so long ago. I thought it would be easier to talk about. I thought I got over it, but apparently not,” he said as Daryl rubbed his shoulders as they faced each other, their foreheads so close they were almost touching.

“Daryl, now that you know this, you have to tell me where we’re at.” 

Daryl looked into Jesus’ eyes for clarification. “Where we at?” he repeated, squinting quizzically. 

“Yeah, me and you…What are we? I know we’re not at the same place as we left off a month ago. I know there was something that wasn’t quite right for you that time… And what I just told you, that changes things too. So tell me what are we? Friends? Less? More? Or you wanna grab Merle and get the hell out of here and call the cops on me?”

Jesus looked at him, eyes wide, eagerly expecting an answer like the fate of the world depended on it. Daryl noticed how the younger man nervously bit the inside of his lower lip.

“I don’t know but I’m definitely not gonna call the cops and I’m definitely not leavin’ again. Done enough damage to ya last time,” he admitted. “I guess we’re in the friends section but I want more. I really do. I just wasn’t ready last time. It was like I thought it was my only chance to do what we did. To know what it’s like. That’s why I asked what I asked and you were perfect and I wish I never left.” 

There was no explaining how badly he wanted to make things work with Jesus while his brother was left in the shadows, hopefully forever. 

“Where do you want us to be?” he blurted out, hoping Jesus’ answer would mirror his thoughts. 

“In bed with you,” Jesus laughed at his own confession. It was the simplest truth that lingered in his mind for the longest time, “but I know that’s not exactly where you want to be right now so how about we start with going out first? On a date.”

Daryl’s heart raced like a cold breeze through autumn leaves, making every fiber of his being rustle in anticipation. He had to admit this honesty thing was working really well so far. 

“Really? You still want me after all this?”

“Daryl, I really—”

“Daryl!” Merle’s voice from the living room cutting Jesus off mid sentence. 

“Jesus fucking Christ—” Daryl groaned and barger out of the room to face his brother, “what?”

Merle had the worst timing. Ever.

“There you are, baby brother. How about you go get our stuff from the motel and you show your friend how much fun having us around can be.” 

Daryl shook his head but Merle was partially right. They they paid for the room until tomorrow. Someone had to go fetch their belongings before they got tossed out and Merle’s injuries were worse than his. He had to do it.

“Paul?” Daryl called out, refusing to call him Jesus in front of his brother to avoid potential ridicule for both of them. “I needa step out for a while.”

 

“Wait!” Paul gave Daryl an eager look, “you’re supposed to be in bed resting. Let me come with you to make sure you’re okay.” 

“Uh, right. Fine,” Daryl agreed.

And they were out the door before Merle could pick up on the mood. 

“So where we going?” Jesus asked balancing himself on his heels. 

“Merle wants me to get his stash from the motel.”

“Ah, okay. Let’s take a cab to make it quicker. Then we can go on our date.” 

Jesus wasn’t going to waste another second delaying the inevitable.

\------------------

Daryl cursed as he picked up his belongings from the motel floor and shoved them into a duffle bag. Merle’s stash was gone, and so were the leftovers of their money. It was his fault, he left the door wide open for the thieves to march right in and take what they wanted.

It was a blessing in disguise because now Merle couldn’t afford to land himself in trouble even if he wanted to. 

“We’ll just have to find something new to occupy himself with instead of dealing, getting high and fucking hookers all the time,” Daryl shrugged off. “At least my leather vest is still here,” he said, putting it on and showing off the angel wings on it’s back to Jesus. “It’s one of a kind, would be pissed if it was gone.” 

“It suits you,” Jesus commented, admiring how perfectly it framed Daryl’s upper body.

“So about that date. Where we going?” Daryl was trying to make sure Jesus didn’t forget about his promise without sounding too eager. 

“Wherever you wanna go. From now on, you set the rules. Where we go, when we go, what we do. It’s all on your terms, I don’t want you to rush into anything you aren't sure about.” 

“If that’s how you want it then fine. We’re going for a stroll in Central Park and I’m not letting go of your hand until it’s over,” Daryl said, smiling wide like a kid in a candy store.

Jesus reached for his hand, their finger intertwined into a comfortable clasp. 

“Lead the way,” Jesus said, smiling so brightly that Daryl felt like the luckiest man in the world.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ready for some more smut?

“That’s what’s left of our stuff. No money. No drugs.” Daryl threw the duffel bag onto Merle’s lap.

“We got robbed?” Merle turned down the volume of the old western he was watching. 

“Well I didn’t exactly lock the door on my way out when you got kidnapped. What’s your next move?” Daryl asked impatiently. Luckily, Jesus stayed downstairs, dallied by a call he had to answer. Merle took the opportunity to question his brother in private. 

“Say, d’ya know what’s in that room? It’s locked pretty solid,” he asked.

Daryl rolled his eyes. Of course his brother snooped around the first chance he got. 

“It’s his art and stuff. He’s pretty private about it. Just leave it alone.”

“It worth anything?” Merle was smirking and Daryl knew exactly what was on his mind and it was making him see red. 

“Fuck you, Merle. We’re not robbing Paul,” he growled at his brother. “He bailed you out from the mob, paid your hospital bill and let you stay in his home and that’s how ya wanna repay him? Hell, he even made you breakfast. The fuck is wrong with you?” His voice was gradually rose to the point of yelling. 

“Wow. Protective of your boyfriend much, Darlina?” Merle mocked, unaware that he was dead right. “This spoilt brat you just met more important than your only brother? That how ya gonna repay me?” 

Daryl avoided answering. He refused to be provoked. He refused to pick a side. Merle was his family but the gentle budding feelings he had for Jesus made him pretty damn important too. He had to take charge before Merle would sabotage their lives once more.

“How about you start doing something legal for a change? How many time I gotta watch you get dragged away by the cops. Every time you’re in jail I’m afraid you gonna get beaten to death in there! And I wouldn’t even know cause I’m sleeping in some alley and they can’t reach me. And now ya done pissed off the mob too! They almost killed ya.” Daryl’s bubbling rage ceded its place to despair. “If you’re going on the same path again, I can’t follow. I’m fucking tired of this. If you don’t give a shit about what happens to you then fine! But I’m not gonna pass another opportunity to have a normal life.” 

Merle remained silent for a while, making sure Daryl’s burst of anger was over and when he spoke his voice was calmer. “How’s this a chance at a normal life?” 

“Paul says we can stay here. Until we can afford our own place. Don’t matter how long it takes.” Daryl slumped on the couch next to his brother, the fight exhausted what little energy he had left. “Just fucking agree to this. I can’t lose you again.”

Merle was clearly touched by Daryl’s admission to the point of being uncomfortable how emotional he was feeling. “Fuck it,” not willing to admit to Daryl that he’d won, he stood up, “gonna see if the bellboy got some smokes.” 

Merle passed by a confused Jesus in the doorway and disappeared into the elevator. 

“What was that all about,” Jesus asked, “I heard you yell from the lobby…”

“Forget it,” Daryl told him. “Was nothing.”

Jesus furrowed his brow in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re still enforcing the sibling rivalry stereotype at that age?” 

Daryl laughed. “Not like I have a choice. We don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

“You know I’m here for you,” Jesus said, “I’m just not sure how I can help with this.” 

“You can’t. I just gotta hit my head against the wall repeatedly when it comes to talking to him ‘till he gets it.” 

Jesus joined Daryl on the couch and looked into his eyes. “You’re tired of it, aren't you?”

“When he’s not there I miss him but when he’s back and I’m stuck with him all day, yeah, it’s exhausting.” 

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” 

There was nothing Jesus could do to influence his brother, it would just fuel his rebellious nature but Jesus had the ample influence over Daryl’s mood. Like a magic spell, his presence broke Daryl’s walls down, making him want to reveal his true self. “Sneak into my room tonight,” his eyes downcast, Daryl requested softly. 

“Oh, what for?” Jesus inquired with a mirthful smile, his eyes open wide and curious . 

“Just don’t want ya sleepin’ on the couch all night ‘cause of me, okay?” Daryl blurted out, a bit flustered. It was a half-truth. 

“You know I don’t mind any of it,” the artist closed in on Daryl, leaning onto his shoulder and seeking to look into his eyes, “I just want you to get some rest, get better. I hate seeing you hurt.” 

Daryl grunted, this man was too damn nice to him. He lifted his eyes from the floor and returned and intense smoldering gaze. “I want you next to me, okay?” he rasped, his cheeks turning red. His lips twitched, he lowered his head and focused back on the floor, realizing how demanding he sounded. He had run out of courage for one day. 

“Okay,” Jesus smiled, “if that’s what you want, I’ll be there.”

\-------------

Daryl hummed and opened his eyes, pushing back against Jesus’ form when the younger man joined him in bed. “You’re here,” Daryl whispered, looking over his shoulder and welcoming the younger man’s embrace.

Jesus climbed in after depositing his cellphone on the bed side table. He’d set the alarm clock to vibrate so he could sneak back to his couch, come early morning, to avoid raising Merle’s suspicion. All hell would break loose if he nonchalantly walk in on them, having no respect for Daryl’s need of privacy. 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Jesus asked. 

Honestly, Daryl hasn’t thought past that point. He wasn’t sure what to do, he just wanted to spend more time with Paul. 

“Um, yeah.” Daryl felt so drowsy and tired, his painkiller’s side effects adding to the mix but he wanted to do something nice for Jesus. He was afraid Jesus would think this was a waste of time. “Is there anything you want me to do?” he asked, his voice wavering as he resisted his heavy state of somnolence. 

Jesus cursed under his breath. “I want you to rest, silly.” He shifted about to try to find a position they would both comfortable in, wrapping his body around Daryl’s back as the older man curled upon himself, lifting his head so Jesus could sneak his arm under it. Daryl’s head fell onto Jesus’ bicep and Daryl rubbed his face over the smooth skin underneath him before settling. This was better than any pillow. “Can you fall asleep like this?” the younger man asked him, warming the back of Daryl’s neck with his breath. 

Daryl relaxed and just hummed in response because he already was about to do just that. How nice, their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, Daryl thought before he closed his eyes. 

This became their nightly routine for the next two weeks but as each night rolled by Daryl started seeking good night kisses that evolved from merely chaste and soft pecks to their lips gently brushing together tentatively before they returned to the comfort of their sleeping position to lengthy makeout sessions that added hands roaming about, seeking bare skin to the mix of their affectionate exchanges. Paul was patient and eager to see what his lover would want next while Daryl let his passion gradually bloom. 

Trying to keep each other quiet as they explored one another’s bodies for sensitive spots proved equally exciting and terrifying to Daryl, since his brother slept in the room next door. Merle suspected nothing, since he found Jesus sleeping on the couch every morning. Everything was working out just right. Daryl was convinced he wasn’t the kind of man who’d stay quiet if he was suspicious.

During day time, they pretended like nothing was going on between them. It was hard when they were all in the same room together so the artist would lock himself in with his art and paint, preparing for an upcoming exposition and Daryl would deal with Merle’s urges to score easy money the questionable way, often resulting in the sound of their disagreements carrying loudly through the whole floor.

Eventually Daryl passed on the knowledge of online job hunting to his brother just to have him infect Paul’s computer with viruses that came with the porn he downloaded. Jesus just laughed it off, at this point he didn’t expect any less of Merle. 

“You know I, what you call it, googled our gracious host here,” Merle said one night, as he tried to figure out some console shooting game he found in one of Jesus’ drawers. “His paintings are worth a fortune.” 

Daryl lifted his eyes from the mystery novel he was reading and gave him a disappointed look. “No,” he said firmly. “Merle, for the last fucking time. No.” 

And that time there was no argument.

\-------------------------

Daryl pretended to be asleep when Jesus opened the door and silently joined him in his bed. The only sound he emitted was depositing his phone on the bed side table with a soft thud. He could be so quiet sometimes, like a ninja. The covers lifted behind him and Jesus’ chest pressed against Daryl’s back. A gentle hand brushed away the stray wisps of hair from his face. The younger man proceeded to wrap himself around his lover in a tender but deliberate manner to gently lure him to awakening in the midst of the night.

There was a reason Daryl didn’t immediately respond. He was gathering his courage to try something new. He’d kissed Paul, had sex with him, had himself claimed repeatedly as they lay under the veil of intimacy, all a long time ago. But this was a fresh start, one that wasn’t rushed. One where their relationship organically grew to new heights. Daryl felt like tonight was the night, one where Daryl could amends for the pain he’s caused and return all the ecstatic sensations he’d experienced by Jesus’ hand one by one. 

And he had all night. By some miracle, his brother found a job as a fry cook in a 24/7 diner. Tonight he was given the graveyard shift. He must have taken Daryl’s words to heart because even the amount of profanity he spewed on a daily basis watered down drastically. Paul just watched him leave. The coast was clear. 

All Daryl had to do was just find a starting point. 

He opened his eyes but he was still lost in thought, unaware that Jesus was searching his face for answers, his eyes innocently wide open and curious, scanning his face for the reason of the unusually long silence.

“You know, I can just go back if you want,” Jesus said, shifting away from Daryl and sitting up in the bed. “We don’t have to do this every night. You can tell me no.”

“No, fuck no,” Daryl frantically sat up, “don’t go.” He needed to explain somehow what he wanted to try. Hopefully, if Jesus agrees he could start doing… _that thing_ he planned and the rest would just come naturally to him somehow. “Stay, don’t move,” he blurted out nervously, trying not to let his resolve waver. He grabbed onto the younger man’s shoulders and pressed a hurried chaste kiss on his lips, afraid to lose the man he wanted to please for so long to a misunderstanding in depths of the silent night. “Don’t go, don’t move. I want to do… something… to you.”

Jesus snickered. “Just so you know, my safeword is appletini.”

To Daryl’s best guess was that it meant _“Do whatever until I hate it so badly that I need a drink”_ so he went forth with his ministrations. 

He took a deep breath and tipped Jesus over, pinning him on the bed underneath him as he straddled his lap. He looked down into his eyes, finding a spark of arousal in them. Jesus reached for Daryl’s face, cupping it with both hands and running his fingers over Daryl’s scruff. 

“So that’s what you want tonight? To be in control?”

“That ok?” Daryl asked. What if Jesus didn’t like that? What if it freaked him out?

“Fuck, yes, that’s so hot,” Jesus admitted eagerly. “I’m all yours.”

Daryl leaned in and kissed him, licking into his lips until they willfully parted to give him access to freely twirl his tongue in the younger man’s mouth. Before long Jesus was moaning, his hand trying to reach his thickening penis that was pinned under Daryl’s pelvis. 

Daryl’s eyes sparkled and he swiftly grabbed Jesus’ wrists and crossed them over his head, with one hand he held them down and the other reached to cup Jesus’ cock. “Can’t touch yourself tonight,” he groaned. “Tonight, it’s all mine.” 

Jesus grinned and playfully rolled his hips, brushing their erections against each other. “That so?”

Daryl inhaled sharply, the motion send a wave of chills down his spin. His lover was getting hard and teasing him so he must be doing something right. He lifted himself on his knees and pulled Jesus’ silk pajama pants lower, appreciating the artist’s convenient habit of going commando as his cock sprung free from under the precum soaked garment. 

He took it in his hand and started stroking it gently, spreading the precum all over for a slicker experience, until the younger man begged him to go faster, breathing heavily and bucking his hips into Daryl’s firm grasp. His unraveled expression, the way he would open his eyes in between intense moans to look back at Daryl, the way his back lifted every time Daryl ran a finger over the crown, the way his arms relinquished all control under Daryl’s touch. It was so intensely arousing. Daryl relished in the thought of seeing Paul come undone. He released his wrists and lowered himself down to get closer to his groin, propping himself up on his elbow beside it as he continued stroking his lover with ardor, precum smearing all over his hand and mixing with his sweat. 

His lubricity overcame him and he sucked off the crown with a wet kiss, his tongue caressed the slit gently. He could taste Paul on the tip of his tongue, it was exhilarating. 

“Daryl, holy fuck,” the artist exclaimed loudly, consumed in bliss from the exposure to Daryl’s puckered lips. And Daryl did it again. And again. Then slower, with more tongue and Jesus just whined with delight. Daryl let go of the shaft and instead started working over it with his lips and tongue, seeking the engorged member with his mouth every time Jesus’ involuntarily twitching moved it away from his lips. He licked at the pulsating vein underneath it and sucked at it, which had Jesus grabbing at his hair and pleading for more. 

Daryl took it as encouragement to try and take his whole length into his mouth. He could feel Paul’s muscles twitching as he picked up a rhythm, trying to figure out what’s the best way to tighten his mouth around his lover’s cock for maximum pleasure. 

“Daryl, sweetheart, I’m gonna come,” Paul whimpered, “you can… ah fuck… remove your mouth. You don’t have to—” 

“No,” Daryl cut him off, growling the syllable with his mouth full of dick and sucked even harder, determined to finish the younger man with his newly acquired skill. He was in control and he was gonna swallow. He wanted to.

Jesus just moaned in response and came, his cock filling Daryl’s mouth with hot, thick liquid that proved tricky to swallow whole. Solely the sight of Jesus rippling over the edge made Daryl’s insides flutter. God, he was so perfect like that.

When Jesus came down from his post orgasmic high, he seeked Daryl’s lips immediately. “I can’t wait ‘till we do this again,” he murmured between hastily caught breaths and frantic kisses.

“That in twenty minutes or thirty?” Daryl asked, his voice’s playful tone basked Jesus in delight. 

“Fuck, what did I do to deserve such a sweet, eager boyfriend?” The words came out of Paul’s mouth and hit Daryl like a binding spell. 

_Boyfriend. Paul’s boyfriend._

He liked the sound of it so much that he let it linger at the back of his mind when they went for round two. Then three. Until dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm stretching this story to the max and I'm not even sorry :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves.

Christmas was approaching and Daryl found himself surrounded by tacky decorations and grumpy shoppers on a busy downtown street. A stray snowflake landed on the back of his neck and he shivered as the fleck melted and made its way down his spine. He could use a scarf in this weather.

He was on his way home and started walking faster, trying to maneuver between people without bumping into anyone. He was sweaty and tired from a long day of work. A small startup company offered him a position as a mover. In fact, they only had two trucks and he was on call only but it was a step in the right direction. After much protest from Jesus who worried that a job so physically demanding might prove hazardous such a short time after Daryl got hurt but luckily a visit to a reassuring doctor had him partially convinced that his boyfriend was completely healed and would be just fine. 

He spent his first day at work partnered up with a friendly guy who introduced himself as T-Dog. Time went by quickly as they moved furniture from one office to a bigger one at the other end of town while T-Dog cracked jokes and told anecdotes about his former jobs. Eventually Daryl stifled a laugh. Work was hard but he was in good company.

They managed to finish the job without breaking anything and to the satisfaction to the office’s managers who handed them their pay and a little extra for a job well done. The day’s on and off snowfall combined with the rush hour put the streets into snail paced traffic as they were on their way back. After an hour of barely moving Daryl asked T-Dog to drop him off. They were just a few blocks from home and he could make his way on foot. 

A short “see ya” to T-Dog later, he started walking through the busy street. The flashy decorations and repetitive Christmas carols that came from every store he passed did not fill him with cheer. His family has never celebrated Christmas and neither did Jesus. There was no tree to decorate and put a gift under but Daryl’s mind was still occupied by what he could possibly get his boyfriend, not because he had to but because he really wanted to and now he could afford it. He squeezed the crisp bills of his pay in his pocket. Yep, still there. 

What could Paul possibly use? What would he like? So many things filled his home. Daryl’s mind drew a blank, it seemed like Paul had everything he needed. 

Walking further, his hands hidden from the cold in his pockets, holding his pay firmly as if it could run away from him any minute, he passed a street stall with handmade goods. Woven hats, mittens and scarves hung from it. More snow malted and made it’s way down Daryl’s back. These are nice, he thought right before the realization hit him. 

“Buy one, second one’s half price,” the middle aged saleswoman informed him.

While the idea of wearing something matching with Jesus sparked something warm in his heart, he pushed it away because it was utterly silly and completely obvious just a magnet for Merle’s teasing to the least. He could excused it with “Those were the only two left” and shrug it off. Maybe that’ll work. Nah, too risky. 

“Nuh, just one.” Daryl declined, “can you gift wrap it?” he asked, his fingers reaching for a woven scarf that caught his eye and touching it’s soft fabric. Yellow to orange tow a light brown. It’s gradation of colors reminded of autumn leaves. 

“This one will do.”

\----------------------

Jesus’ day was slowly draining his energy away. It began by Daryl leaving for his first on a new job at the crack of dawn. Daryl’s physician gave him a clean bill of health and Jesus was aware it’s been awhile since Daryl showed up at his door all beaten up but it was engraved in his mind like it was yesterday. He couldn’t help but worry.

Then he had to avoid Merle, who had a day off and spent it all by loudly commenting on some WWE tournament he was watching on DVR, beer in hand, from the comfort of Jesus’ couch. 

After running out of patience, Jesus headed for the gym but an unanticipated phone call broke his concentration just as he began unwinding his stress with exercise.

“Annual Christmas dinner. Usual driver coming to pick you up now. Not optional.” His father’s abrupt voice came through the receiver. “Text him your location.” Then he hung up. 

“Fuck, time to keep up appearances.” Jesus mumbled to himself, enthusiastically entering the gym’s address into his phone.

Within ten minutes he was in a limo, on his way to his family’s estate where the usual drama ensued, full of passive aggressive remarks and animosity among useless chit chat and business plans he wanted no part of. At least the food was always good. His mother always hired the most renowned caterers and the bottles of wine that popped open during these parties were usually the best they had from their vineyard in Italy. 

Although he wasn’t sure if Daryl would ever be up to it, he wished he was there, sitting next to him in the limo, for moral support. Standing next to him at the party, drinking wine with him and hopefully not choking on any appetizers. He wished he could loudly introduce his boyfriend to his family but that would just anger them and will put Daryl in danger so he had to persevere without him just like he always did.

However nothing could stop him from sneakily texting him all day long. 

He sent a short “How’s work going?” at his arrival to the estate. About half an hour later, after he’d cleaned up, changed into a suit in his old room and tied his hair into a tidy bun, trying not to dwell on bad memories it brought up, his phone gave several short vibrations.

“Good”  
“Sorry”   
“Busy”  
“Text you when im done”

The messages rea, Jesus sighed. He shouldn’t be bothering his boyfriend at work anyway. At least now he was assured Daryl’s doing fine. 

He slid his phone into his pocket and made his way down an ornate stairway to where the annual family gathering was held to be quickly intercepted by his mother. She wrapped her arm around his and walked him to the side of the room where she warned him. Apparently, his sister was pissed he undermined her authority the night he had to save Merle. It cause a bit of a stir and created incertitude among her goons. 

Instantly, Jesus knew what it meant. Payback was in tow.

As soon as the rest of the family walked in with some distant relatives, his mother left his side to join them and his sister merrily made her way to him. 

“I hope you didn’t get too scared from my little gift this morning. It was only a joke,” she said, with a mischievous smile. She grabbed two glasses of wine from one of the waiters and handed him one.

“What gift?” Paul inquired, bracing himself. He accepted the glass of wine, clearly he was about to need it.

“Oops, I think I just ruined the surprise,” she said. “Oh nevermind then, I guess you weren’t the one who signed for it. Anyway, how’s Daryl doing?” She asked, still grinning. 

Paul raised an eyebrow. He never mentioned Daryl to anyone in his family and definitely not by name.

“What gift?” He repeated, his voice hardening.

“Oh, you’ll see,” she shrugged. 

 

“And how do you know about Daryl?” he was about to ask but got interrupted mid sentence by one of already drunk distant relative who loudly stated how happy he was to see him after such a long time and pulled him into a lung crushing hug.

His sister just grinned at his frustrated expression and walked away waving her finger. He wasn’t getting any answers from her tonight.

This was already an exhausting and long day and now he felt like something unpleasant might be waiting for him at home. She was known for her mind games. 

Thoughts of Daryl echoed through his mind repeatedly all night as he nodded to the drunk's banter with a fake smile, subtly checking his phone for updates from his boyfriend. He kept it up for a couple of hours until the guests started making their way home and a nod of approval from his mother assured him it was safe to leave without any repercussions.

He darted out of there as fast as his legs could carry him.

\----------------------

Daryl decided to take the back alley behind his building as a shortcut. He walked past a U-HAUL truck parked near the fire escape. His phone’s battery died somewhere during the workday and he had no idea what time it was but it was getting dark. He almost bumped into the truck’s open back door in the dark. Cursing that someone who didn’t bother closing said door he made his way up to Jesus’ floor and entered the apartment.

He opened the door which was left unlocked and made his way to the kitchen in the dark, trying to hide his gift in one of the seldom used cabinets, hoping no one will stumble upon it until Christmas. He took one glance at the living room and instantly noticed something’s amiss. Rectangles of untarnished wall paint were where Jesus’ paintings used to hang. 

Daryl picked up the sharpest knife he could find from the cutlery drawer and looked around. The TV was missing, game consoles, laptop, everything deemed expensive was nowhere to be seen. 

Someone must have heard him rummaging in the cutlery because loud footsteps came from Jesus’ painting room, where he could see light. The door brusquely opened, pushing a crowbar that lay underneath it his way. Jesus’ sanctuary was broken into. 

He wasn’t about to let anyone rob Jesus’ home. His muscles tensed, his grip firm on the knife, he was about to pounce into a fight when before him appeared Merle. Daryl froze, Merle looked furious. 

He was holding something in his hand, something that instantly flew into Daryl’s face and fell to the ground. Shocked, Daryl looked down. 

At his feet was a manila envelope and dozens of photos scattered all over the place. Of him and Paul. There they were holding hands on a walk. Some where of kisses when they thought no one was watching. A few of an extremely heated makeout session in the woods that would have gotten them arrested for indecent exposure if they were caught by security. Another one at a diner, having breakfast. And then there were some taken through Jesus’ bedroom window, probably done by one of those night vision cameras, in a very explicit positions, and in every single one of them Daryl was circled with a thick red marker. 

“Is this how you pay rent?” Merle yelled at a completely speechless Daryl. 

“Just tell me you did this to get off the streets,” Merle pleaded. “Tell me this is just shit you had to do like them guys in jail, to survive. Tell me the shit I’m seeing here ain’t what I think it is.”

Merle paced a bit and dragged staggered Daryl into the painting room. 

“Come on,” he commanded, grabbing some paintings and heading for the open window to the fire escape, “take these. We’re gonna sell ‘em. I’m gonna get ya out of this. You’ll never gonna have to do this again. We gonna forget it ever happened.” 

Daryl couldn’t face him. This was it. The status quo he created with secrecy and lies was shattered. He couldn’t just pretend everything is fine anymore. Once again he had to chose. He could leave again and live the rest of his life in shame of who he is or confess and hope that their brotherly bond is strong enough.

His eyes got used to the bright light and he looked around the unfamiliar room. Brushes, paint, empty canvases, finished and unfinished paintings were everywhere. From the thin dustless rectangles of various lengths on the floor, next to the walls, he could tell there were many more painting missing.Merle must have already brought them down the fire escape, into what Daryl now realized was his rented U-HAUL. He knew how much work Paul put into his creations. He knew he poured his soul into his art. He couldn’t let Merle go. He couldn’t leave with him. 

“Put ‘em down. We need to talk.” Daryl said, his eyes lifting from the paint stained floor to fixate Merle, who returned an intense glare at him. 

“It’s what you think it is. I’m gay. Always been. Always hid it. Was afraid of what dad would do to me if he knew. Of what people would do to me. Of what you’d do to me. I love Paul and I ain’t going nowhere. Now it’s up to you, what are you gonna do to me?” 

And then Merle completely lost it. He began spewing insults, slurring some speech about disgust, lies, abominations, threatening him, violently waving his arms around, breaking easels, kicking canvases. Merle became the spitting image of their dad. Daryl felt like he was reduced to the vulnerable child he used to be but the pain never came. He realized he was still firmly holding the knife he picked up in his hand. Daryl didn’t know if this was the extent of his brother’s newfound hatred towards him or it was the knife that prevented Merle’s rage from escalating into a bloodbath but after what felt like eternity where Daryl’s heart broke and everything became a blur, all the noise stopped. 

Merle disappeared down the fire escape and from far below the sound of Merle’s rented truck merged with the noise of the ongoing traffic. Silence surrounded Daryl, alone with his dark thoughts in an half empty, freezing room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert itsbeen84years.gif here*  
> Thanks to all the amazing comments and love this fic was revived from hiatus.  
> I had to rethink of how I wanted this story to end countless times and that, among other things, gave me the mother of all writer's blocks but now I have a plan for the next couple and an ending in sight.   
> If you're still reading, feel free to leave a comment or point out any typos my beta reader and I have missed. Until next chapter!


End file.
